


Sugar and Spice

by Riyan_Blue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baking, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas at Hogwarts, Complete, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry has a sparkling personality, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, Not Epilogue Compliant, One Shot, Professor Bill Weasley, Slow Build, baking contest, everyone needs a wingman, family gingerbread recipes, magical gingerbread houses, terrible baking puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riyan_Blue/pseuds/Riyan_Blue
Summary: Harry really wants to win the inaugural Hogwarts Gingerbread House competition but he and Hermione are on a team with Zacharias Smith and Draco Malfoy. Are baking themed puns and a desire to win enough to bring them all together?
Relationships: Anthony Goldstein/Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Lavender Brown/Cormac McLaggen, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Comments: 21
Kudos: 105





	Sugar and Spice

The lists go up on the new school notice board on the first day of December. The Eighth Year list looks like this: 

_Susan Bones, Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Michael Corner_

_Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Zacharias Smith_

_Padma Patil, Blaise Zabini, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillen_

_Terry Boot, Pansy Parkinson, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley_

_Hannah Abbott, Mandy Brocklehurst, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass_

_Seamus Finnegan, Cormac McLaggen, Anthony Goldstein, Dean Thomas_

There are no further explanations. At least, not on the noticeboard. Harry looks from the list to Hermione and shrugs. 

“At least I’m with you, ‘Mione,” he says. “For whatever this is.” He does not mention the other two names next to theirs as he doesn’t want to talk about either of them. Hermione gives him a tight lipped smile, her eyes darting anxiously to Ron. “Uh, sorry Ron?” But Ron just shrugs. 

“I’m with Neville and Terry,” he says. “I’ve got nothing to complain about.” It seems none of them are going to mention the Slytherins (or slimy Hufflepuffs). 

“But what are these groups _for_ though?” Hermione asks. She looks around the gathered students, but no one seems to have any answers. She frowns at the list for a moment, as if that will make it explain its purpose to her, before sighing and making her way into the Great Hall for breakfast. 

Of course, the lists are all anyone can talk about. 

“Who did you get?” Harry asks Ginny, sitting down next to her.

“Luna,” she says and then lists two other names, neither of whom Harry has ever heard of. Harry nods and starts piling sausages onto his plate. Their interactions have been awkward as of late. He supposes that’s to be expected. They did break up a few weeks ago, after all. 

“And no one knows what they’re for?” Hermione asks hopefully. Ginny shakes her head. 

Harry just hopes the groups aren’t revision partners. Hermione had drawn up an exam revision timetable for herself the moment they had gotten back to school for their repeated eighth year, but both Ron and Harry had refused to even look at the ones she had made for them. Harry had claimed that it was because he needed to pass his N.E.W.T.s on his own merits, but really it was because he wanted to enjoy the school year and not spend the entire time in the library. After all, it is the last year he will spend at Hogwarts. 

Of course, being placed into a group with Malfoy is going to complicate the whole ‘enjoying the year’ aspect of things, but Harry is hoping that whatever the groups are for, he can spend most of the time talking with Hermione and ignoring the two blond members of their group.

“Malfoy?” comes a horrified yell from the Entrance Hall. Smith has clearly just discovered the lists. Harry looks over at the Slytherin table and watches as the aforementioned blond looks up and rolls his eyes. Ron makes a choking sound beside him. Harry turns his head and sees that Ron is laughing so hard he has actually begun choking on his breakfast sausage. He thumps Ron on the back and that seems to do the trick as the choking noises stop. 

“Ron,” Hermione says. “Be nice.” 

“I don’t know how you’re so calm about this,” Ron says. “Being in a group with them would drive me mental. The conversation’s going to be dominated by ‘my family this’ and ‘my father that’.” 

“Well, Ron,” Harry says. “We’re clearly more mature than you.” Ron stares at him for a long moment before Harry cracks a grin to let him know he is joking. 

…

The teachers are clearly determined to keep the students guessing about the groups as they refuse to answer any of the many questions directed at them that day. Some professors even take a certain delight in not telling them, such as their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Bill Weasley. (Fleur had insisted he give up his dangerous curse breaking job once she became pregnant with their first child, and his options had been either a desk job at Gringotts, or Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He’d wisely chosen the professorship.)

“C’mon Bill,” Ron wheedles. He, Harry and Hermione have stayed behind after class in the hopes he will share some information with them. “You can tell me. I’m your brother.” 

“That’s true,” Bill says. “You are my brother.” He reaches up and pulls the hair tie out of his hair, letting his ponytail fall down. His hair is shorter than it had been during the war, but still long enough that he has to tie it out of the way during lessons. 

“So you’ll tell me?”

“What’s that?” Bill asks. 

“You’ll tell me what the lists are for?” 

“Oh,” Bill says. He looks as though he is considering it for a moment before saying, “no.” 

“What? Why not?”

“While I do love you,” Bill says, clapping Ron on the shoulder. “I am far more afraid of what McGonagall will do to me if I let slip what’s going on.” Then he winks and propels them out of his classroom. 

…

Dinner that night is surprisingly quiet. Most of the students spend their time looking up at the head table to see whether or not there is going to be any information shared about the lists in the Entrance Hall. Harry is such a combination of nervous and excited that he barely tastes his shepherd’s pie. He’d seen both Smith and Malfoy in class during the day, but neither of them had seemed inclined to talk to Harry, and he hadn’t wanted to make the first move, so they had all just awkwardly stared at each other before going their separate ways. They are off to a great start. 

Presently, Professor McGonagall stands up. The hall, which had been mostly quiet, falls silent almost immediately. McGonagall smiles at that. 

“I know that many of you are curious as to the meaning of the groups listed in the Entrance Hall. I commend you all for your _patience_ in waiting for this announcement.” Is Harry imagining it, or does McGonagall have that Dumbledore twinkle in her eye? “I hereby proclaim that the inaugural Hogwarts Gingerbread House competition is officially open.” She claps her hands once and at that signal, there is a popping noise and small tables appear at fixed intervals along the walls. The tables are empty aside from small, tented name tags. Harry squints at one and concludes that they cards have the various groups’ names on them.

“It was Professor Snape’s wish that this competition be held during the month of December every year following his death.”

“Snape?” Harry blurts out before he could stop himself. 

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall says, looking down her nose at him. “Professor Snape. It was his wish that the names of every student from each year be pulled at random to create the teams. I believe he wanted to promote inter-house friendships, not unlike the friendship he shared with your mother, Mr. Potter.” Harry flushes but nods. 

“The competition runs through the Eighteenth of December. On the morning of the Eighteenth, the gingerbread houses will be judged by a panel of the staff, with each Year having their own winning team. Please make sure that your submission is on your labeled table before eleven am in order to be included in the judging. 

“The winners will receive gift certificates to various Hogsmeade institutions. The First and Second Year teams will receive Honeyduke’s gift certificates, along with a supervised trip into town at the start of the Spring Term. The older students will be allowed to choose for themselves and may spend them at their leisure. 

“But most importantly, the winning teams get bragging rights. Your names will be engraved on the Golden Gingerbread House.” She flicks her wand and a golden house appears in the air before her. “Which will live in the trophy cabinet.” 

“I want to win,” Harry whispers to Hermione. “I want my name on that statue.” 

“Don’t you think people will remember you anyway?” Hermione whispers back. “You know, for being the Boy-Who-Lived?” 

“Hermione,” Harry says. “I want to win so that I can be known for something that’s not just being the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“You’re also the youngest seeker in a century.” 

“Hermione.”

“And the Triwizard Champion.”

“‘Mione.”

“And you won the Quidditch Cup in third year.” 

“ _Hermione_.” 

“You realize that means Malfoy’s name will be on it too.” 

“I can live with that.” She twists her mouth to the side but nods. 

“Fine,” she says. “We’ll try our best.”

“Do you think they’ll include The Three Broomsticks among the places we can get gift certificates for?” Ron asks. He clearly has not been listening to Harry and Hermione’s whispered conversation. 

“Probably,” Hermione says. “I can’t see why they wouldn’t.”

“Because we’d just spend it on Firewhisky?” Seamus points out.

“Shh,” Ron intones. “Don’t say it out loud or they’ll think better of it.” Harry realizes that he has tuned out the rest of what McGonagall has been saying, so he dearly hopes that Smith and Malfoy had been paying attention, because he is sure she had been talking about the rules. 

“And a copy of these rules will be posted in the Entrance Hall along with the team lists,” McGonagall says. Harry breathes a sigh of relief. “May the best team win!” And with that she sits down and the hall explodes into excited chatter. 

“Switch places with me, Harry,” Ron says, shoving Harry on the shoulder. 

“What?” 

“I want to sit next to Neville. We need to talk _strategy_.” Ron leans forward and catches Neville’s eye as he says that and Neville grins. 

“Fine,” Harry says. Once that’s done, Neville and Ron put their heads together and start muttering. Harry thinks he hears snatches of ‘my mother’s family gingerbread’ and ‘Gran has a wonderful icing recipe’. He sighs. If his family’d had any gingerbread house traditions, he doesn’t know about them. 

Harry looks over at the Slytherin table and his eyebrows rise insurprise when he sees that Malfoy is staring at him. Malfoy doesn’t break eye contact when Harry looks up and instead jerks his head to indicate that Harry should come join him. Harry points at Hermione. Malfoy nods. Yes, the nod seems to say, bring her too.

“Let’s go to the Slytherin table,” he says to Hermione. 

“What? Really?” 

“If we want to win, we’re going to have to work with Malfoy,” Harry says. “We might as well start now.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Smith making his way over to the Slytherin table. He points this out to Hermione and she sighs but stands up. 

“First things first,” Malfoy says as Harry and Hermione sit down opposite him. “We should find our table.” 

“It’s the table in the corner,” Smith said, pointing. “I saw it as I was walking over. It’s with all the other Eighth Year tables.” 

“I really want to win,” Harry says, ignoring Smith. 

“No shit, Potter,” Malfoy sneers. “So do I. Why else do you think I’m talking to you?” 

“My sparkling personality?”

“You wish.” They frown at each other for a long moment. Smith examines his nails, clearly bored. 

“Should we make some sort of plan?” Hermione asks, steering them back on track. 

“Thank you, Granger,” Smith says. “I vote that we use my family’s gingerbread recipe. It’s been in the family since the days of Helga Hufflepuff herself.” Because of _course_ Smith would bring that up. Harry turns to Malfoy, convinced that he’s going to insist on using whatever the _Malfoy_ family recipe is (who knew all these families had their own gingerbread recipes?), but Malfoy just shrugs his shoulders in acquiescence. 

“Fine,” he says. “Now, Granger, as much as it pains me to admit it, you’re the best in our year at arithmancy. Can you help work out the strongest magical base for the house?” 

“Sorry, what?” Harry asks. 

“Any good gingerbread house needs a solid base,” Malfoy says, as if explaining it to a five year old. “Or else it will fall down.”

“You mean the gingerbread house will be magical?” Malfoy raises an eyebrow at him. It really irks Harry that he can do that. No matter how long he practices in the mirror, Harry can never manage it. 

“Have you never seen a wizarding gingerbread house, Potter?” 

“Uh, no?” At least, Harry doesn’t think he has. He’s always stayed at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays, and last Christmas they had been camping (and getting attacked by snakes). So, no, he hasn’t. Malfoy frowns at him. 

“I’ll show you some photos of my family’s gingerbread houses tomorrow,” he says after a long moment. He holds Harry’s gaze for a long moment before looking down at his hands. 

“OK,” Harry says. “Thanks.” 

Smith, meanwhile, has reached into his bag and pulled out a piece of parchment. He begins scribbling down some notes. 

“What do we want it to look like?” he asks, looking up. “My family usually incorporates a lot of badgers, you know, because of Helga, but I’d imagine Malfoy won’t go for that.” Malfoy rolls his eyes. 

“Why don’t we build Hogwarts?” Harry suggests before either of them can fight about badgers. 

“Oh sure,” Smith says. “Because _no-one_ will think to do that.” 

“We’ll just make ours better than everyone’s,” Malfoy says and Harry almost does a double take. Has Malfoy just agreed with him on something? 

“What do you think Hermione?” he asks instead of thinking about what it might mean that Malfoy has backed him up. 

“What?” Hermione looks up from the piece of parchment that she’d taken from Smith. It is now covered in complicated equations. Harry can only assume that Hermione has read up on magical gingerbread houses in some book or other. He wonders vaguely if he should read more. Probably. 

“Should we make a gingerbread Hogwarts?” Malfoy asks. 

“Oh,” Hermione says. “Yes, why not?” 

“Three to one, Smith,” Malfoy says. “We’re making Hogwarts.”

“I never said I didn’t want to,” Smith huffs, but everyone ignores him. 

“I’ll make the frosting,” Malfoy says. “As I’m back to being the best at potions.” He stares pointedly at Harry as he says this and Harry feels a flush creep across his face. As the Fiendfyre had destroyed the Room of Requirement, he hadn’t been able to retrieve the Half Blood Prince’s book and his potions marks are suffering for it. His skills are passable, but Slughorn no longer thinks that he is a potions prodigy. That is probably for the best. 

“The frosting has to be brewed?” Hermione asks. 

“It doesn’t _have_ to,” Malfoy says. “But I found a recipe that creates an icing that both glows and changes colors.”

“Rainbow frosting?” Harry asks. Malfoy nods. “Wicked.” The corner of Malfoy’s mouth lifts slightly in what Harry could _swear_ is a smile. Well, that’s new. 

“So Granger’s going to lay the base, I’m going to make the gingerbread, Malfoy’s making the icing. What do you bring to the team, Potter?”

“My sparkling personality?” he tries again. Smith blinks at him. “Fine, an intricate map of the interior of the castle, from which we can build our Hogwarts model.” 

“It’ll do.”

…

The next day in Potions, Malfoy sits next to Harry and Hermione. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asks. 

“Sitting with you. I thought that was obvious.”

“Yes, but why?” 

“Why not?” Harry doesn’t have an answer for that. He is just glad that Smith isn’t in their potions class or he’s sure Smith would have joined them as well. Oh no. Charms is going to be the _worst_. 

Really though, Harry thinks as the lesson goes on, sitting next to Malfoy isn’t too bad. He keeps giving Harry helpful notes on his potion and had even explained to him why the holly berries interacted with the beeswax in the way that they did. 

“But how do you know that?” Harry asks. 

“It’s in the book,” Malfoy says. This time he doesn’t use his ‘talking to a five year old’ tone of voice. He flicks to the back of the textbook where the reference pages are. He finds the correct page and points it out to Harry. 

“That’s what these pages were for?” 

“Of course. What did you think they were?” Malfoy asks. 

“I don’t know,” Harry admits. “I never bothered to read them.” Harry watches as Hermione catches Malfoy’s eye over his head and shrugs as if to say ‘I told him this’, which makes Malfoy snort in amusement. Harry isn’t sure he likes Malfoy and Hermione ganging up on him. These groups are clearly a bad idea. 

…

“Where did you get this map?” Smith asks, looking down at the Marauder’s Map that Harry has spread over a desk in the empty classroom that Malfoy had chosen as a meeting place. 

“It was my dad’s,” Harry says. This seems like the easiest explanation. 

“Is this,” Malfoy starts to ask, but then he stops himself. 

“Is this what?”Harry asks.

“Nothing.” Malfoy shakes his head and presses his lips together. 

“I think we should build the castle up layer by layer,” Hermione says. “Following the map.” 

“Are we making all of the interior as well?” Smith asks. 

“Yes,” Malfoy says firmly. “The more impressive the better.” 

“We can do that?” Harry asks. The three of them stare at him and he throws his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Yes, of course we can. We’re magic.” That appears to be the correct answer because Smith then says, 

“I’ll make the portraits out of rice paper.” 

…

Most of the evening is spent alternately drawing out gingerbread floor plans and trying to come up with a decent team name. Malfoy and Smith seem determined to annoy Harry as much as possible in second endeavor. 

“I think we should be The Chosen Ones,” Malfoy says. Harry’s not sure if he’s being serious or not. The smirk on his face makes Harry think that he’s not? But Malfoy smirks so often that Harry’s never quite sure what it means. 

“Yes!” Smith cries, slapping his hand on his knee and dissolving into laughter. “That’s perfect.”

“No,” Harry says. “Absolutely not.” 

“How about ‘The Boy-Who-Lived and His Lackeys?” Smith suggests. Malfoy practically cackles at that.

“No, no, no,” Malfoy says. “The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Bake.” Then he practically falls out of his chair laughing and Smith starts clapping, unable to contain his glee. Harry hates them both. But even Hermione cracks a smile at that one. Traitor. Harry crosses his arms and glares at all of them. 

“Potter’s Posse,” Smith says. 

“Harry and the Potters,” Malfoy counters. 

“Draco and the Malfoys,” Harry shoots back. Smith and Malfoy stop laughing immediately and make similar disinterested faces at him. 

“The Saviors of Gingerbread World,” Malfoy suggests a moment later.

“I hate you,” Harry says. 

“You know, Malfoy,” Smith says. “I thought you were a bit of a stuck up prig, but I find myself reevaluating you.”

“I’m so glad you two can bond over my misery,” Harry says. 

“Good of you to be so understanding, Potter,” Malfoy says. “Oh! Here’s one: Saint Potter and the not so golden trio. You know, the trio being us three.” 

“How about something that’s got nothing to do with me?” Harry suggests. “Like the Rambunctious Penguins.” 

“Nah,” Smith says immediately. 

“Boring,” Malfoy adds. 

“The Youngest Bakers in Over a Century,” Hermione says. Then she scrunches up her face. “Sorry, that was the best I could come up with.” 

“Granger, I underestimated you,” Malfoy says. 

“You always do,” she says with a rather self satisfied smile. Malfoy doffs an invisible hat to her. 

“Well played.” 

“Fine,” Harry says. “You want to make a team name that combines one of my stupid nicknames and baking? What about: The Chosen Buns.” 

“Potter,” Malfoy says appraisingly. “That’s truly inspired.” 

“It’s nice to learn that you’re not as up yourself as I thought you were,” Smith adds. Harry gives him a withering smile. 

“Charming,” he says.

“All in favor of the Chosen Buns?” Hermione asks. All four of them raise their hands. “Great. It’s decided then.” 

…

“This is really nice gingerbread,” Malfoy says when Smith brings them the first batch of gingerbread sheets that he’s made the next day. “I must commend the Hufflepuff family recipe.” Smith puffs out his chest in pride. Harry bites his lip to stop himself from laughing. 

“It holds the geminio charm nicely as well,” Smith says. If he notices Harry’s amusement, he ignores it. “This should be enough for the first floor, with a couple of geminios — of course you don’t want to do too many or it affects the integrity of the gingerbread. I’ll bake more for the other floors.” 

“Thank you, Zacharias,” Hermione says. Smith beams. 

“Call me Zach,” he says. So it seems they’re on a first name basis now. Weird. What’s next? Being on first name terms with Malfoy? The horror! 

“Malfoy, can you check through these equations to make sure I have them right? Then I can start layering the support spells.” Hermione passes over a piece of parchment and Malfoy squints at it. After a long moment, and a quick glance around, Malfoy pulls out his wand and summons a pair of gold wire -rimmed glasses. 

“Don’t you dare breathe a word of this,” he says, looking around at them, before he turns his attention back to the parchment. Harry catches Hermione’s eye and grins at her. She gives him a look that says he should be more mature than that, so Harry sticks his tongue out at her. Hermione just rolls her eyes at him. 

“This looks good, Granger,” Malfoy says. He hands the parchment back. “Let me know if you need any help with the spell work.” Hermione nods, then she pulls out her wand and rolls up her sleeves. Harry watches, fascinated, as she begins inscribing shimmering lines onto the bottom piece of gingerbread. Not for the first time, he wonders if he should have taken arithmancy. But then he looks again at the complicated equations on the parchment and knows that he’d made the right decision in passing on it. 

“Potter,” Malfoy says, touching him briefly on the arm to get his attention. 

“Yes?”

“Did you want to see those pictures? Of the gingerbread houses?” Harry is surprised that Malfoy had even remembered that, but he nods, because he does. Malfoy rummages in his bag for a moment before pulling out a stack of photographs. 

“Don’t laugh,” he says. 

“What?”

“I’m in some of them.” Harry looks up, surprised.

“And you’re showing them to _me_?” 

“Don’t make me regret this.” Malfoy glares at him and shoves the photographs into Harry’s hands. Then he prowls away, over to the other side of the classroom. Harry watches him pace for a moment before he looks down at the photographs in his hands. The first one is of the most beautiful gingerbread house Harry has ever seen. It’s a large Victorian house that’s covered in swirls of frosting and topped with a snowy, gabled roof. Spun sugar icicles hang down from the roof and glitter in the candlelight. Harry’s mouth falls open in surprise. 

The next picture is even more amazing, as is the one after it. But it’s the fourth one that really catches Harry’s attention. The gingerbread house is certainly impressive — it’s a huge replica of Notre-Dame de Paris, replete with colored sugar stained glass windows and tiny gargoyles — but the thing that stands out to Harry is the tiny Malfoy hovering next to it. Malfoy is about the size of the gingerbread house and is grinning up at the camera through a gap-toothed mouth. Every now and then he gets distracted and peers into the colored glass windows until someone out of frame catches his attention again and he resumes his smiling. 

Harry glances over at Malfoy, who is now standing in the corner running a nervous hand through his hair, and then back to the tiny Malfoy in the photograph. He almost can’t imagine them being the same person, but as soon as he thinks that, he knows he’s being silly. Somewhere inside Malfoy’s prickly, cold exterior is that little, grinning kid and Harry wants to see if he can bring him out. Because when he thinks about it, he realizes he’s never seen Malfoy smile. 

He flips through the final few pictures, noting in particular the ones with Malfoy in them. There are a few that were clearly taken after Malfoy started at Hogwarts, because he’s older than eleven, but he still has the same look of joy — the one that Harry’s never seen on him in person. He wonders if he would have if he’d ended up in Slytherin. 

“Right,” Hermione says, straightening up. “That’s the base done.” 

“Brilliant,” says Zach. He hold up several pieces of gingerbread. “I’ve geminio’d these, so they should be good to go.” 

“Potter,” Malfoy says. “Where’s that map?” Harry obliges him by spreading the Marauder’s map out next to the now faintly glowing gingerbread that Hermione’s worked on. Then he, Malfoy and Zach spend the next forty five minutes creating all of the rooms on the ground floor of the castle, while Hermione helps attach the pieces with a combination of icing that Zach fetches from the kitchens and more charms. 

“I have time to brew the potion for the special icing tonight,” Malfoy says as they are packing everything up before dinner. “So we can use it to decorate the interior before we start on the second layer.” 

“But it’s Friday night,” Harry protests. 

“And?”

“And you shouldn’t do work on Friday nights.” This is one of Harry and Ron’s unspoken rules about the weekend. 

“Why not? There’s nothing else to do.” 

“Nothing else to do?” Harry is outraged. What had happened to all the Slytherins shenanigans he’d heard rumors about? “There’s plenty to do. In fact, I’ll bet you ten galleons Seamus walks into the Gryffindor Common Room after dinner and says we should all go to the pub.” 

“Ten galleons?” 

“I wouldn’t take that bet, Malfoy,” Hermione says. “Seamus says that every Friday.” 

“And do you go every Friday?” Zach asks. 

“Of course,” Harry says. “Why? What do you lot do?” 

“Um,” Zach says, blushing. “Play lots of exploding snap?” 

“You should come with us,” Harry says impulsively. He must be filled with the Christmas spirit because that’s the only reason he can think of as to why he is voluntarily offering to spend even more time with Zacharias Smith and Draco Malfoy. 

“What if Finnegan doesn’t ask?” Malfoy asks. 

“Then I’ll owe you ten galleons, remember?” Harry says, smirking. 

“And you’ll show up anyway?” Zach asks. He looks genuinely worried at the prospect of spending time in a pub with just Malfoy for company. 

“Yes, fine,” Harry says. He’s not quite sure how he’s talked himself into this but if he doesn’t show up now, Malfoy will surely make fun of him. And he doesn’t want that. Not after they’ve been getting along so well these past two days. 

…

Sure enough. 

“Let’s go to the pub,” Seamus says as they walk into the Common Room after dinner. 

“Yeah, alright,” Harry says, grinning. “Can we invite our gingerbread group?”

“You want to invite Malfoy?” Ron asks. 

“Harry’s already invited him,” Hermione says. 

“Blimey. Well, I guess I’ll just have to drink enough that I can ignore Ferret Face.” Harry laughs and shoves Ron affectionately against the wall as they make their way up the stairs to get their cloaks. 

“Harry’s got a point,” Dean says. “We should invite Anthony.” Seamus looks at Dean for a moment before nodding. 

“Should I send an owl?” he asks. 

“It’s probably faster to go to the Ravenclaw tower,” Cormac says. Since he’s the only one in his year who’s had to come back and repeat his seventh year, he’s been bunking in with the rest of them. 

“All those stairs?” Seamus says. “No thank you.” 

“I’ll do it,” Cormac says. “Need to keep this tight for the ladies, you know.” He gestures to his body andwinks at no one in particular. Harry turns away, rolling his eyes. He’s still not used to having McLaggen in their dorm and his ego often grates on Harry’s nerves. 

“Do you think we should invite Terry and Pansy?” Ron asks Neville. Neville, who is searching in his trunk for something, doesn’t even look up to say, 

“Yes.” 

And this is how the entire Hogwarts Eighth Year ends up at the Three Broomsticks that night. 

…

“I’m not giving you ten galleons, Potter,” Malfoy says, sitting down at the empty barstool beside Harry. 

“Buy me a drink at least?” Malfoy turns his head to glare at Harry but after a moment his expression softens. 

“Yeah, alright.” He signals to Madame Rosmerta who seems thrilled to have so many patrons in her bar, particularly as all of them are of age and can buy real drinks. “Two firewhiskies.” 

“I don’t get to choose what I want?” 

“No.” Now it’s Harry’s turn to glare but he somehow can’t keep the smile off of his face, so it’s a very ineffectual glare. Rosmerta puts two shots of firewhisky in front of Malfoy and he slides two galleons across the bar to her. Then he shoves one of the firewhiskies at Harry. 

“Cheers,” Harry says, holding up his shot. Malfoy sighs like this is the worst thing he’s ever heard, but clinks his glass against Harry’s before downing it in one. Harry follows suit and winces as the burning liquor goes down his throat. Harry expects Malfoy to get up and leave, but he doesn’t. This presents a new problem: what to talk about? 

“Had you really not seen a magical gingerbread house before?” Malfoy asks. Harry’s not sure why he seems so hung up on this. Perhaps it’s because young Malfoy had clearly found so much joy in them. 

“Nope,” he says. “We had a Muggle one once, but it only lasted an hour.” 

“It fell down after an _hour_?” Malfoy seems almost offended by this. “Surely Muggle gingerbread isn’t _that_ bad?” 

“Oh,” Harry says. “No. My cousin ate it.” 

“He _ate it_?” If anything, Malfoy is more offended by this. “But gingerbread houses are works of art! You don’t eat _art_.” He signals to Madame Rosmerta again. 

“Eh,” Harry says. “This was six pieces of overbaked gingerbread held together tentatively with icing and covered in sweets. Calling it art would be a stretch.” Rosmerta walks up and looks expectantly at Malfoy. 

“What do you want, Potter?” Malfoy asks. 

“Oh, I get to decide now?” Harry asks. It’s only after he’s said it that he realizes he’s probably pushing his luck. 

“Gobli-gin and tonic for me,” Malfoy says. He nudges Harry. 

“Oh, and, uh.” Harry tries to come up with a drink. He does. He really tries, but his mind is blank. “Make that two.” 

“Original,” Malfoy drawls. 

“That’s what I wanted,” Harry protests. 

“Sure.” Harry’s about to protest when Malfoy shifts in his seat and his knee ends up pressed against Harry’s. And shit. What does that mean? Harry chances a glance at the blond, but Malfoy’s watching Rosmerta pour their drinks. 

Harry mentally shakes himself. It probably means nothing. If Malfoy were Ron, and Ron had done this, Harry would think nothing of it. But then why is it making his heart pound this way? 

“Two gobli-gin and tonics,” Rosmerta says. Malfoy slides more money across the bar, then pushes Harry’s drink towards him. As he does, his knee shifts against Harry’s and _surely_ he notices that, right? But his face gives nothing away, so Harry accepts his drink, trying to keep his legs as still as possible. 

“Cheers,” Malfoy says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. 

“Yes, fine, cheers,” Harry says, turning slightly so that he can clink his glass with Malfoy’s. And he can feel it. The slide of his knee against Malfoy’s. And yet, Malfoy’s face gives nothing away, even as he looks straight into Harry’s eyes and inclines his head as their glasses touch. Malfoy takes a sip of his drink, then pushes himself off of his seat. 

“See you around, Potter,” he says, and then he melts into the crowd, leaving Harry far more flustered than he thinks he should be. Harry lifts his glass to his lips and takes a large gulp and it’s only because he’s in public that he doesn’t spit it out all over the bar. He should have known whatever Malfoy wanted to drink would be bitter. 

…

Just to be sure, Harry sits down at the table where Ron, Hermione, Anthony, Terry Boot and Pansy Parkinson are sitting and casually shifts in his seat until his knee is touching Ron’s. It feels familiar and doesn’t make his heart pound the way that Malfoy’s knee did. He’s not sure what this means. He decides that it means that he should drink more and think less. 

…

Perhaps Harry should have seen it coming, but it still surprises him when Seamus pushes Dean against the bar and kisses him senseless. Harry’s heart leaps to his throat and he can’t tear his eyes away. He feels his face grow hot and his hands start to sweat and when Cormac does almost the same thing with Lavender, the feeling doesn’t go away. 

…

“Neville wants to make a moving replica of the Whomping Willow for our gingerbread house,” Ron says. He’s half shouting because after eleven pm, the Three Broomsticks turns the music up and becomes more of a club than a pub. It had surprised Harry the first time it had happened, but now he looks forward to the time when he can dance away all his problems in a liquor soaked stupor. 

“What?” Harry yells back. 

“We’re making a gingerbread Whomping Willow,” Ron yells. “Somehow.” 

“Cool.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Hogwarts.” 

“The whole thing?”

“Yeah.” Harry looks around, but no one is dancing yet. He doesn’t want to be the first one out there, but he also really wants to forget all his problems and dance until he can’t feel his feet. 

“Damn,” Ron says appreciatively. Or at least Harry assumes that it’s appreciatively. He’s finding it difficult to hear. 

“I’m going to get more whisky,” he yells. “You want any?” Ron shakes his head, so Harry makes his way to the bar alone. He leans heavily on the sticky surface and Rosmerta is there almost instantly. “One firewhisky.” 

“Make that two,” says a voice beside him. Harry turns his head. It’s Malfoy. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks. 

“You invited me.” 

“I guess tha’ s’true,” Harry says. He scrunches up his face. He didn’t think he was drunk enough to be slurring yet. 

“And because you’re buying.” 

“Who said I was buying?” 

“Two firewhiskies.” Rosmerta plonks the two shots down in front of Harry and Harry will be damned but he does pay for the pair of them. 

“You did,” Malfoy says. Then he winks and Harry doesn’t know what to do, so he clumsily taps his firewhisky against Malfoy’s and tips it back so that he doesn’t have to think about it. Then he makes a beeline for the dance floor. 

While he’s the first one dancing, he’s not the only one for long. The Patil twins are quick to follow, and Michael Corner and Ernie MacMillen are close behind them. Seamus drags Dean into a dance that’s more feeling each other up than actual dancing, but it’s still somehow more modest than what Cormac and Lavender are doing in the darkest corner of the dance floor. 

Harry dances with abandon, throwing his hips and arms to the beat of the music. He doesn’t think about his failed relationship with Ginny and he doesn’t think about Malfoy. He doesn’t think about how Seamus and Dean kissing made him feel or about how Cormac and Lavender kissing didn’t make him feel quite as much. He doesn’t think about anything but the beat of the music and the feeling of the alcohol coursing through his veins. 

He finds himself dancing in a group consisting of Pansy, Ron, Blaise Zabini, Anthony and Hermione. For a moment, he thinks it’s odd that they’re dancing with the Slytherins, but then the song changes and it’s one of Harry’s favorites. So then he’s jumping and singing, and he’s losing himself in the music and he doesn’t care who it’s with. He slings an arm around Zabini’s neck and another around Hermione’s and they sing-shout at each other until the song ends. 

The entire group of eighth years ends up in a circle, arms around each other, singing until Madame Rosmerta kicks them out at one am. 

Ron and Malfoy support Harry on the walk back to the castle. Harry feels very lopsided as Ron is almost half a head taller than Harry, whereas Malfoy only has a few centimeters on him. Harry points this out to Ron and the redhead shrugs and leaves him with Malfoy. And it’s only when Ron has left that Harry realizes his best friend has left him alone with _Malfoy_. But they make it back the the castle grounds in one piece. 

As they make their way up the castle steps, Malfoy groans,

“I’m going to have to make the icing tomorrow.”

“Because I insisted you come out tonight?” Harry asks.

“Yes, it’s all your fault, you cretin.”

“Did you have fun at least?”

“It was tolerable.”

“Only tolerable?” Harry asks, poking Malfoy in the ribs. Malfoy squirms against his side. Harry doesn’t know why he cares about this, but he does. 

“Could have been worse.” They’re in the Entrance Hall now. “G’night.” He pauses. Unhooks himself from under Harry’s arm. Stares at Harry for a long moment. “Harry,” he says. A strange look crosses his face. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s close. Then he turns and hurries away down the stairs to the dungeons. 

…

Malfoy goes right back to calling him Potter the next day. Harry knows this because Malfoy finds him in the library where he’s doing homework with Hermione. 

“Potter,” he whispers, startling Harry so much that Harry knocks into his ink bottle, spilling it everywhere. Malfoy sighs and siphons the ink back into the bottle almost lazily. 

“What?” Harry snaps.

“I need your help.” Malfoy looks annoyed at having to say this out loud. He’s not looking at Harry, but rather glaring at the nearest bookshelf, his mouth drawn into a tight line. 

“With what?”

“The icing.” And suddenly Harry is interested in helping him. He nods once and shoves the transfiguration essay he’s been working on into his bag before gathering up the rest of his things. Hermione looks up briefly, but when Harry tells her it’s for the gingerbread house, a smile spreads across her face and she shoos him away. 

“What do you need?” Harry asks once they’re out of the library. 

“Um,” Malfoy says. He stops walking and looks around in concern, but there’s no one near by. “Help breaking into Slughorn’s private stores.” It is a testament to Harry’s prodigious rule breaking past that he barely reacts. 

“Ok,” he says. “What do we need from there?” He wonders what could be so dangerous or rare that they need it in the frosting. Then he wonders if he could write to a potion supply store and throw his name about in order to get some. Maybe he’ll do that anyway, just to replenish Slughorn’s supplies. 

“Lady’s Mantle.”

“But that’s a fairly common ingredient,” Harry protests. He’s rather proud of himself for knowing this. 

“I’m aware of that, Potter,” Malfoy snaps. He resumes walking, so Harry follows him. “But with gingerbread house season upon us, all the usual stores are sold-out.”

“How do you know Slughorn has any?”

“I asked him,” Malfoy says. He glares at Harry like it was a stupid question. 

“Did you ask him if we could have some?”

“Of course I did, moron. But he said he doesn’t want to play favorites.”

“Is that what you need me for? To ask if he’ll play favorites for me?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Malfoy says. “I need you to distract him while I cast a disillusionment charm on myself and sneak past him.”

“Why not use my invisibility cloak?” Harry suggests. Malfoy stops walking and Harry almost walks into him. 

“You have an invisibility cloak?” he asks. 

“Yes.” Malfoy stares at him for a long moment. 

“This explains a lot,” he says finally. 

“So, why don’t we use that?” 

“Yes, fine,” Malfoy says. “Let’s do that. Where is it?” 

“My dorm. Come on.” They change course and make their way up to the Gryffindor tower. Harry leaves Malfoy at the portrait of the Fat Lady and runs up the stairs to his room. Harry throws the cloak over himself and then makes his way back down. Malfoy has wandered a short way down the corridor when Harry pushes his way out of the portrait hole. Harry grins to himself when he sees that Malfoy hasn’t noticed the portrait move. He sneaks up behind the blond and throws the cloak over him. 

“What the fuck?” Malfoy splutters, spinning around. Harry dissolves into laughter. “Potter, you’re impossible.” 

“You should have seen your face,” Harry says. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t jinx you.” Harry shrugs. 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go see Slughorn.” He takes Malfoy’s arm and tugs him forward. 

“Do we have to be under this cloak while we walk?” Malfoy asks a few minutes later as they’re making their way down the marble staircase. They have to move slowly so that they stay covered by the cloak. They’re also rather close to each other. In fact, Harry is currently debating whether he should just throw an arm around Malfoy’s shoulder to make it easier..

“We don’t _have_ to,” Harry admits. “But I thought this was fun.”

“How is this fun?” Malfoy asks, wincing as Harry steps on his foot. 

“We can scare people.” 

“We haven’t come across a single person.” It’s true. The corridors have been shockingly empty for a Saturday. Harry figures most people are working on their gingerbread houses. He voices this thought aloud. 

“Probably,” Malfoy agrees. “Which is what we should be doing, rather than creeping slowly down these stairs.” 

“We could move faster if we were closer together,” Harry mutters.

“Is that what this is?” Malfoy asks. “An excuse to get close to me?” 

“No,” Harry says even as his mind helpfully tells him it might be. 

“Why? What are you planning?” Malfoy sounds almost sad. “Going to stick a ‘kick me’ sign on my back?” he sneers. 

“What? No!” Malfoy narrows his eyes and throws the cloak off of himself before stalking down to the next landing. He glares back up the stairs, getting more and more annoyed with each passing second. Harry doesn’t know why until Malfoy curses and says,

“Oh hell, where did you go?” Harry smiles and rolls his eyes. He makes his way down the stairs until he’s standing right next to Malfoy. Then he reaches out and pokes his arm. “I hate you.” Harry pokes him again but hasn’t accounted for Malfoy’s seeker reflexes. Malfoy grabs his wrist, and after a moment pulls the cloak back up and over himself. 

“Hello again.”

“Shut up.” This time Malfoy puts an arm around Harry’s shoulder and they make much better time. 

…

“Harry m’boy,” Slughorn booms when Harry knocks on the door to his office. “Come in, come in.” Harry grits his teeth and enters the office. He hates how much Slughorn fawns over him. But he’s here to try to use it to his advantage. Malfoy had agreed to let Harry try to convince Slughorn to share some Lady’s Mantle with him the honest way before they actually broke into his supplies. 

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry says. He opens the door wide — wide enough to let Malfoy in as well — and walks into Slughorn’s office. 

“What can I help you with?”

“I have a favor to ask,” Harry says. He hates this. Hates everything about it. But if they want that glowing, multicolor icing, he has to do it. 

“Oho?” Internally, Harry cringes. Externally, he smiles in what he hopes is a winning manner. Behind Slughorn, Harry sees the door to the storeroom open. He can’t believe it. Malfoy’s not even waiting for him to ask. He clearly doesn’t believe in the power of Harry’s celebrity. 

“As you know,” Harry says. He has to stall for time now. He can’t have Slughorn going back into his supplies and running into Malfoy — that would defeat the purpose of the entire exercise. “We’re in the middle of a very exciting competition.” 

“Ah, yes,” Slughorn agrees. “The Gingerbread House contest.” 

“Exactly,” Harry says. And suddenly he knows how he’s going to play this. “I’m ever so excited about it. I’ve never seen a magic gingerbread house, you see.” 

“What?” Slughorn leans forward in concern. Harry shakes his head. 

“I grew up with my muggle family after,” and here he pauses, bites his lip. He wills himself to cry, but his eyes won’t obey, so he looks to the ceiling and pretends that he’s trying to keep tears in. “After I lost my parents.” This part comes out as a whisper. 

“Poor lad,” Slughorn mumbles. Harry sucks in a breath. 

“It would mean so much to me if my group could make the gingerbread house of my dreams, but we’ve run into a problem.” He pauses again. Behind Slughorn, the storeroom door opens and closes again. “My teammate, Draco Malfoy, said that we could make some glowing, color changing icing, which would make the whole thing so special. I got so excited. It sounded _magical_.” Harry widens his eyes and does his best to look hopeful. Then he sags his shoulders and looks at the floor. “But we can’t find any Lady’s Mantle.” 

“Ah,” Slughorn says. Harry’s not sure what that ‘ah’ means. He looks back up at Slughorn, chewing worriedly on his bottom lip again. “Now normally I wouldn’t play favorites, but for you m’boy, I think I might be able to make an exception.” Slughorn pushes himself up from his desk and Harry has to fight the grin that’s threatening to spread across his face. He dearly hopes that Malfoy has left enough Lady’s Mantle in Slughorn’s supplies that the potion master can give them some. But then, Malfoy’s not an idiot. Right? 

Slughorn disappears into the storeroom and Harry feels a prod on his arm. He turns his head in the direction of the poke and smirks before turning his head back and schooling his features back into that hopeful mask again. 

“Arsehole,” Malfoy whispers in his ear. Harry grins.

…

“Do you need any help brewing?” Harry asks. They’re back in their empty classroom, just the two of them. Malfoy’s given Harry’s cloak back and is now leaning back against one of the desks and sulking. 

“No.” 

“Let me rephrase my question then. Would you _like_ any help?” 

“No.”

“Would you like me to go away?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is it because Slughorn likes me more than you?” 

“No.”

“Do you know words that are more than one syllable long?” 

“Just fuck off, Potter.” Harry doesn’t need telling twice. 

…

“Do you think we’re going to work on the gingerbread house this evening?” Harry asks Hermione that afternoon. They’re back in the library. Harry is now working on his Charms homework and wondering if he can incorporate any of the sparkling charms they’ve just learned into the house. But then, of course he can. That’s probably why Flitwick had taught them that this week. 

“I haven’t heard anything from Zach,” Hermione says. She doesn’t look up from the runes she’s translating. 

“Is he in charge?” Harry’s not sure who else would be in charge, but somehow the thought of it being Zach bothers him. 

“He’s making the gingerbread, so I’m not sure what more we can do until he’s done.” 

“We could decorate the interiors,” Harry says. 

“Is the icing done?” 

“Malfoy started on it today.” 

“I suppose we’re waiting on him then.” This isn’t the answer Harry wants to hear. He isn’t sure what he wants to hear, but waiting is not it. He wishes he could be more useful. Perhaps he can make some of the portraits. Zach had mentioned painting them onto rice paper, so Harry figures he’ll start there. 

He scribbles out some answers to the rest of the questions Flitwick assigned and then packs up his homework. He probably could have gone into more detail on it, but he would much rather work on the gingerbread house. Hermione looks up as he stands. 

“I’ve finished,” he says and he’s surprised to find that it’s true. Perhaps Hermione’s right about the whole ‘working in the library thing’. Not that he’ll ever say that to Ron. 

He hums to himself as he makes his way down to their classroom. It’s odd, he thinks, that they have an entire classroom to themselves. Where are all the other teams putting together their gingerbread houses? How come no one has asked to share their room? He’s not complaining though. It’s nice to have a space where they can meet that’s house agnostic. 

When he walks in, he finds Malfoy working on homework in one corner and Zach working on tiny paintings in another. There’s a merrily bubbling cauldron on one of the desks next to Malfoy. It’s giving off a warm, sugary scent that reminds Harry of baking cookies. 

“Hello,” he says to the room at large. Malfoy looks up briefly, nods at him and then goes back to his work. Zach turns around in his chair and gives Harry a stiff smile. 

“Have you come to join us?” he asks. Harry nods. He sits down at one of the desks near Zach and peers over at the tiny paintings he’s done. His mouth falls open. 

“These are incredible,” he says. 

“Thank you.”

“Where’d you learn to paint like that?” Harry asks. Zach lifts one shoulder in a shrug. 

“I like to draw,” he says. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but Harry can see a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. 

“Well they’re brilliant. What can I do to help?” Any ideas Harry had about helping with painting have gone out the window. Anything he does will pale in comparison to Zach’s tiny masterpieces. 

“You could start pasting them onto the walls,” Zach says. “Normal royal icing should work for that.” That Harry can do. 

He leaves his bag behind and makes his way to the kitchens. He knows the house elves would happily supply him with icing, but he wants the satisfaction of making his own, and years of helping (slaving) in Aunt Petunia’s kitchen have taught him a few things. 

When the door to the kitchens opens, the question of where most people have been all day is answered. 

The kitchen, which is normally very large, has more than doubled in size to accommodate the hundreds of students that are working there. The entire room smells of gingerbread and sugar and it’s so loud that Harry almost claps his hands over his ears. 

It is clearly a mistake to have given the younger years sugar as many of them are apparently just running in circles and yelling. Their tables contain what could either be the start of a gingerbread house or the remnants of one that’s been picked over. The O.W.L. year students (4 th and 5 th ) are faring much better, at least in terms of work done. Harry watches a group of them for a moment. The four of them seem more interested in staring shyly at each other without any of them noticing than in actually working on their gingerbread. 

The top years, however, are a completely different story. Their tables are covered with various gingerbread shapes. Some of them are even starting to look like buildings. All of them look intricate. There’s an empty table towards the back corner and Harry wonders if this is supposed to be their table. He makes his way over to it through the throngs of students. 

Sure enough, the table is empty aside from a place card with their names on it. Underneath the table is a collection of bowls and ingredients. Harry pulls out a bowl, a whisk and some confectioners’ sugar. He looks around for eggs and a house elf pops up beside him. 

“What is you needing? Clampy is being here to help,” the elf says. 

“Are the house elves helping everyone?” 

“Every team is having a house elf,” Clampy says. “Yes, sir.” 

“Can I get four eggs?” Harry asks. He blinks and suddenly Clampy is holding a carton of eggs. “Er, thanks.” 

“You is making royal icing?” Clampy asks. 

“Yes,” Harry says. He picks up the first egg and cracks it over his bowl. He separates the yolk from the white and then looks around for a place to put it. Clampy holds out a bowl. Well, alright then. Harry separates the rest of his eggs and then starts to whip them by hand. Clampy taps him on the shin. Harry looks down at him. 

“May I?” the elf asks. Tentatively Harry holds out the bowl. Clampy takes it and clicks his finger. The whisk begins to move on its own, matching the pace of Aunt Petunia’s electric mixer. Harry grins. This is much better than him trying to do it by hand. Once the eggs start to peak, he slowly adds in the sugar and a teaspoon of vanilla extract and mixes it until it’s finished. 

Clampy looks a tad put out about the fact that Harry is doing so much of the work himself, so Harry lets him transfer the icing into a piping bag for him. 

“But where is being the gingerbread?” Clampy asks, handing the bag of icing to Harry. 

“In a classroom,” Harry says. 

“You is showing Clampy?” 

“Sure, I guess.” The elf nods. 

“Good. We elves is protecting the houses from pranks and shenanigans.” 

“Good to know,” Harry says and leads Clampy out of the kitchens. 

…

“Did you know everyone else is making their gingerbread houses in the kitchens?” Harry asks as he walks into their classroom. Clampy stays out in the hallway.

“Yes,” Malfoy says without looking up. Harry glances at Zach who nods. Of course, Zach must have made the gingerbread in the kitchens. 

“Why aren’t we?” Harry asks. Malfoy puts down his quill. He leans back in his chair, crosses his arms and looks up at Harry. 

“How _were_ the kitchens, Potter? Pleasant? Quiet? Peaceful?” Harry’s mouth falls into a small o. “Precisely. This is much nicer.” 

“But how did we get this classroom? Why hasn’t anyone else had the same idea or come to join us?” Malfoy blinks slowly at him. 

“You think I would let us store our gingerbread house in here without warding the door? Honestly, Potter.” Malfoy looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. “Anyone looking in here just sees a broom closet.” 

“Well, can you let the house elf in?” Harry asks. 

“What?”

“Every team gets a house elf.”

“Oh, right,” Malfoy says. He pushes himself to his feet and walks over to the door, purposefully hitting Harry’s shoulder with his own as he passes him. He pulls out his wand and waves it at the door. A moment later, Clampy walks in. The elf looks around appreciatively. 

“Is you wanting Clampy to keep this room clean?” he asks. “Or to add any additional furniture? Those is being very bare corners.” The elf frowns at the two empty corners of the room. 

“Oh,” Zach says and Harry jumps. He’d forgotten the other blond was there. “A pair of sofas might be nice. And I wouldn’t mind if you could light the fire. And some Christmas decorations…” He continues to natter on and Harry tunes him out, choosing instead to start sticking portraits up on the first floor of the gingerbread house. 

It’s been a while since he’s used royal icing and it takes him a moment to get the hang of it again, but once he does he makes quick work of the portraits. Then he starts to fill in other details, adding the occasional highlighted flagstone or door lintel. It’s only when he’s tracing around the doorway that leads to the dungeons that he realizes they’re not _really_ making the entire castle. He mentions this but Zach waves his comment off. 

“Harry,” he says. “That would take far too long.” 

“But we’re leaving out the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry protests. “We’re missing out on the perfect opportunity to make a fondant basilisk.” 

“You’re joking, right?” Malfoy says. 

“I never joke,” Harry protests. “OK. That’s a lie, but this wasn’t a joke.” 

“The Chamber of Secrets isn’t real,” Zach says. 

“Uh, fuck you, yes it is,” Harry says. Malfoy raises one eyebrow at him. “I’ll show you.” 

“What, actually?” Zach asks. 

“Yes. Let’s go right now.” Harry puts down his bag of frosting. “Clampy,” he says. “Can you keep this cold for me?” The elf nods, takes the bag of icing and disappears. “We’re going to need brooms.” 

“What?” Zach splutters. “Why?” 

“There’s no other way out.” As he’s saying this, Harry is a little worried he won’t be able to open the Chamber anymore since he hasn’t tested his Parseltongue abilities since the shard of Voldemort’s soul had been latched onto him had been destroyed. But then he remembers that Ron managed to open it during the Battle of Hogwarts, so it can’t be that hard either way. 

“You know what,” Zach says. “I believe you. I don’t need to see it.” 

“Scared, Smith?” Malfoy drawls and Harry was not expecting how much Malfoy asking someone _else_ if they were scared would amuse him. 

“No, I just don’t want to go,” Zach says. He draws himself up to his full height and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I need to keep working on these portraits anyway.” 

“Well, come on then, Potter.” Malfoy jerks his head towards the door.

…

“Oh,” Malfoy says. “It’s this bathroom.” 

“Fuck, Malfoy,” Harry says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—” 

“—Are you?” 

“Yes. And I’m sorry for, uh, what happened here.”

“You tried to kill me.” Malfoy’s tone is flat. 

“I didn’t know what it would do,” Harry stammers. 

“You didn’t know it would do this?” Malfoy asks, taking two steps towards Harry and pulling his shirt collar to the side so violently that one of his buttons flies off and pings off of the wall. Harry is left staring at a large expanse of Malfoy’s pale chest. It’s crisscrossed with pale white scars. He reaches out without thinking and touches one. Malfoy flinches away. “What the fuck, Potter?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeats wildly. He can’t look Malfoy in the eye so he looks at Malfoy’s shoes instead. “I’m so sorry. For everything.” He hears Malfoy sigh. 

“It’s ok,” he says. “You just surprised me.” Harry chances a glance up. Malfoy’s shirt is buttoned again — he must have spelled his button back on when Harry was looking away — and he’s staring at Harry with a strange expression on his face. 

“Um,” Harry says after a long moment of silence. “Shall we?” He walks up to the sink that he knows has the snake etched on it. He thinks back to the last time he did this and tries to remember the sounds that had come out of his mouth. He stares at the snake, moving his head from side to side in an effort to get it to appear real. 

“Open up,” he says and he’s floored when it comes out as a hiss. “Holy shit, I thought I couldn’t do that anymore.” Malfoy just stares at him and it’s only then that he realizes he’s hissed the entire thing. Well, the sink is moving now, so Harry hopes Malfoy will just chalk it all up to him telling the sink what to do. 

“That’s it?” Malfoy asks once the sinks stop moving.

“That’s the entrance.”

“So what, we just go in?”

“We just go in,” Harry says with a nod. Malfoy stares at him for a long moment before holding his broom close to himself and stepping right into the pipe. And damn if that’s not cool. 

…

Less cool is Malfoy not moving out of the way and Harry barreling right into him. They land in a heap at the bottom of the pipe, Harry on top of Malfoy. 

“Ow,” Malfoy groans. He tries to shove Harry off of him, but only manages to push him slightly to the side. 

“Ow,” Harry agrees. He knows he should try to push himself off of Malfoy, but he’s landed on his wrist funny and it hurts in a way that he thinks might mean it’s broken. Instead he rolls to the side and slides onto the pipe floor. “Ow,” he says again, this time clutching his wrist. He drops it for a moment against his chest so that he can use his good hand to push himself into a sitting position. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I think my wrist is broken.” Malfoy groans and sits up. He turns to face Harry and pulls out his wand.

“Let me see.” Harry frowns but holds out his wrist. Malfoy takes it in his cold hands, holding his wand in between his teeth, and Harry does his best not to flinch, even as Malfoy presses down on the bit that hurts.

“Ow.” It escapes his lips before he can stop it. Malfoy frowns. He takes his wand in his right hand and prods Harry’s wrist with his it. 

“Brackium emendo,” he says and Harry starts in surprise as he feels the bones in his wrist snap back together. 

“Uh, thanks,” Harry says. 

“Don’t mention it,” Malfoy says. 

“I appreciate you not vanishing them.” Harry tentatively flexes his wrist. Everything feels fine. 

“Why would I—?” Malfoy starts to ask. His eyes go wide as he realizes what Harry is referencing. “Did you just compare me to Lockhart?” Harry flashes him a mischievous grin. “You bastard.”

“Come on,” Harry says, picking himself up off the floor. “The Chamber is down this way.” He starts off down the pipe, not waiting to see if Malfoy follows. He hears the slap of Malfoy’s feet behind him, so he knows that he does. 

The pipe feels smaller than it did when he was twelve. The top of the pipe is closer to his head, possibly because he’s grown, and it feels shorter. That is perhaps because Harry’s not terrified of what he’s going to find. They pick their way carefully through the collapsed part of the tunnel, through the hole that Ron had so carefully made and walk until they reach the stone doors with the snakes on them. 

Harry hisses at the doors, asking them to open. He turns and watches Malfoy as the doors slide aside, delighting in the look of awe on his face.

“Welcome,” Harry says. “To the Chamber of Secrets.” He walks into the room and Malfoy follows him closely. It is just as he remembers it, with lines of stone pillars and the large statue of Salazar Slytherin at the end. The only thing that is different are the skeletal remains of the basilisk. The bones are stretched across the floor, ribs curving out from the spine, and its open mouthed skull yawing at them.

“Needless to say,” Harry says, saying it anyway. “Don’t touch the basilisk.” Malfoy snorts. 

“I wouldn’t even if you paid me to,” he says. Harry starts to pace the chamber and Malfoy sticks close to his side. As they near the skeleton, Malfoy’s hand clutches his and Harry turns his head to look at the blond. 

“Are you ok?” he asks. It might be his imagination, but he thinks Malfoy looks paler than usual. 

“I’m fine,” Malfoy huffs. He snatches his hand back. “It’s just—“ he pauses, chewing on his lip. “—you fought that when you were twelve?” 

“Yes.”

“Fuck,” Malfoy says quietly. “Has anyone ever told you you’re insane?” 

“Hermione, almost every day.” The corners of Malfoy’s mouth lifts in a small smile and Harry’s stomach turns over. He’s made Malfoy smile. Not the full, joyful smile from the pictures of him with the gingerbread houses, but it’s a start. 

…

“How was it?” Zach asks when Harry and Draco reenter their classroom. 

“You would have pissed yourself,” Malfoy says, leaning his broom against the wall next to the door. “It was far too scary for you.” 

“Dickhead.” 

“Anything exciting happen while we were gone?” Harry asks. Zach shakes his head. 

“I’ve finished more portraits though.” 

“Brilliant.” Harry asks Clampy for his frosting bag back and resumes his decorating. Malfoy returns to his cauldron and sits down next to it after checking its contents. The potion has reduced down significantly in the time they were gone and Malfoy seems pleased. Zach continues to paint. 

The afternoon passes. They chat about innocuous subjects like quidditch and homework. Harry finds himself enjoying himself and things get even better when Hermione turns up about an hour before dinner. 

“I finished all my homework for the weekend,” she says. Her eyes are perhaps a little bit too wide, as though she’s kept herself going with one too many shots of espresso. “Which means I can help all day tomorrow.” She walks over to where Harry is putting the finishing touches on the ground floor. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her chin on his shoulder as she looks at what he’s done. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Malfoy frown. 

“What do you think?” he asks. 

“It looks great.” She squeezes him and then lets him go. “I’ll get to work on the next set of equations.” 

…

“Pub tonight?” Zach asks as they’re packing up before dinner. 

“Really?” Harry asks. 

“Why not? It’s Saturday.” 

“I’m with Smith on this,” Malfoy says, looking up from the potion he is now carefully siphoning into a storage bottle. “It’s nice to get out of the castle.”

“And by that you mean it’s nice to be able to get a drink?” Harry asks. 

“Or five,” Malfoy says with a smirk. 

“Ooh,” Hermione. “Yes. I had such a lovely time last night.”

“So did Harry,” Zach says, grinning.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry snaps. Zach frowns. 

“That you seemed to be having a good time,” he says. “I didn’t mean anything else by it.”

“Oh.” Harry chews on a hangnail for a moment. “Sorry for snapping at you. I’m too used to the gossip witches and all their stupid stories about me in the Prophet or Witch Weekly. Of course, it’s gotten easier now that some blond twit doesn’t quote the articles at me at all hours of the day.” He turns and sticks his tongue out at Malfoy. 

“Why have you stopped quoting those articles at him?” Hermione asks. 

“There were too many of them,” Malfoy says. “I got bored. There are only so many stories about Saint Potter’s breakfast choices that I can read before wanting to gouge my eyes out.” 

“Charming,” Harry says, twisting his mouth to the side and glaring. Malfoy smirks and blows him a kiss. Harry freezes. He knows Malfoy has done that sarcastically, but it still makes his stomach turn over in a way he’d previously only associated with Cho or Ginny. He feels his cheeks getting warm and he looks away quickly. 

“So, meet at the Three Broomsticks at eight then?” Hermione asks. 

“Sounds fab,” Malfoy says. Harry chokes back a laugh at Malfoy using the word ‘fab’. 

…

“Where have you been all day?” Ron asks when Harry sits down next to him at dinner. 

“Library, gingerbread house, chamber of secrets, gingerbread house again—“

“—Sorry,” Ron says, interrupting him. “Did you say the _Chamber of Secrets_?” Harry nods. 

“Yeah, I took Malfoy down there.” 

“Is that a euphemism?” Harry chokes on the bite of chicken he has just taken. 

“No,” he says once he can talk again. “I took Malfoy to show him the actual chamber. He and Zach said they didn’t think it was real.” 

“Did Smith go too?” 

“No,” Harry says. “He insisted he needed to keep working on the gingerbread.” 

“Too scared?” Ron asks. Harry says nothing but his grin answers Ron’s question anyway. 

“What about you? How was your day?” he asks and then listens as Ron describes the trials and tribulations of working in a group with Pansy Parkinson. The more he listens though, the less it sounds like Ron is complaining, and the more it sounds like Ron is pleased with his group. Harry can hardly blame him. Parkinson seemed perfectly nice when they were all at the Three Broomsticks the night before. He mentions this to Ron. 

“Oh,” Ron says. “Did I give the impression I didn’t like her? She’s great. She’s got a wicked sense of humor.” He leans closer to Harry. “Between you and me, I’m trying to set her up with Neville.” 

“What?” 

“The man has a secret steel spine.” 

“Ron, it’s hardly a secret.” 

“So you’ll help me?” Ron asks. Harry takes his time chewing his potato. 

“Sure,” he says. “Mm, speaking of the Three Broomsticks, we’re going back there tonight. D’you want to come?” 

And this is how the entire Hogwarts Eighth Year ends up at the Three Broomsticks for the second time that weekend. 

…

“I can’t believe you invited Weaselbee,” Malfoy says to Harry as they’re standing and waiting for drinks at the bar. Malfoy had been at the Three Broomsticks when Harry had arrived, so he’s already at least a drink ahead of Harry. It’s made him a little looser, a little more open. Harry thinks that it’s softened some of his edges. 

“What? Did you think it would just be our group?” 

“Yes,” Malfoy says. “We were going to discuss strategy.”

“No, we weren’t.” 

“And you know that _how_?” 

“Because we have our strategy already. We’re building a replica of Hogwarts.” Malfoy closes his eyes and sighs deeply. 

“Potter, I was referring to our strategy to sabotage the other teams.” 

“What?” Harry asks but he doesn’t get an answer as Madame Rosmerta chooses that moment to push Malfoy’s gobli-gin and tonic and Harry’s firewhisky and soda across the bar at them. 

“Ta, Rosmerta,” Malfoy says, dropping coins into her waiting hand. Harry reaches for his wallet, but Malfoy tugs him away by his sleeve. “Come on. I paid for yours.” He pulls Harry over to the table where Zach and Hermione are sitting. 

“Cheers,” Zach says, holding up his beer. They all clink glasses. 

“Right then,” Malfoy says, immediately holding court. “Strategies. Go.” Hermione looks as confused as Harry had about thirty seconds ago. Harry, meanwhile is looking around at the crowded pub. 

“Is this the best place to talk about them?” he asks, gesturing around at the other students. Malfoy shrugs. 

“It’s better than talking about them at school,” he says. “No teachers to overhear us here.” 

“Why am I concerned that these ‘strategies’ aren’t one hundred percent above board?” Hermione asks. 

“Because you’re clever, Granger. And you’ve figured out that they’re not.” Hermione raises her eyebrows but she looks more amused than concerned. Harry pulls out his wand. 

“Muffliato,” he says, waving it around them. 

“Good thinking, Potter,” Malfoy says. “Now come on. Strategies for sabotage, people.” 

“Everyone else is working in the kitchens, aren’t they?” Zach asks. Harry nods. “What if we put up mistletoe?” 

“Mistletoe?” Harry asks. 

“Magical mistletoe,” Zach clarifies. “Tons of it. All over the ceiling.” 

“Yes,” Malfoy says, his eyes gleaming with malicious glee. Harry decides that look isn’t so bad when it’s not directed at him. 

“But the house elves!” Hermione cries. 

“It doesn’t affect them,” Zach says. “They’ll be able to go about their jobs without disruption.” Harry is quite sure he’s missed something, but he doesn’t want to admit it in front of the entire group, so he just nods enthusiastically and vows to ask Hermione about it later. 

“I guess that’s alright then,” Hermione says slowly. 

“Zach, you mad genius,” Malfoy gushes. There’s a smile on his face. It’s slightly larger than the one he had in the Chamber of Secrets. But it’s still not the right smile. 

“You know what would be even better,” Harry hears himself say. 

“What?”

“If we convinced Peeves to do it.” 

“Potter, I could kiss you right now,” Malfoy says. “Brilliant.” Harry’s mouth goes dry. He could _what_? 

“So it’s decided then?” Zach asks. He receives a chorus of yeses. 

“Well if that’s done,” Hermione says, cancelling the muffliato with a wave of her wand. “I’m off to see my boyfriend.” She stands up, pats Harry affectionately on the shoulder and then makes her way over to Anthony. 

“Boyfriend?” Malfoy asks, staring at Hermione and Anthony. 

“They’re dating,” Harry says. Hermione and Ron’s relationship, if it could be called that, had lasted about the length of the Battle of Hogwarts. About ten minutes after arriving back at the Burrow, they’d looked at each other, laughed awkwardly and realized they were better off as friends. Anthony Goldstein had asked Hermione out the first week back at school and they’d been going strong ever since. 

“But I thought you and—“ Malfoy starts to say but Harry cuts him off with a laugh. 

“No,” he says. “I was dating Ginny, but we broke up a few weeks ago.” 

“Sorry?” 

“No, don’t be,” Harry says. “It was for the best.” 

“You really ought to have kept reading the articles about him,” Zach says. “This was all detailed in last week’s Witch Weekly.” 

“Along with ever so helpful speculation about who I might have my eye on,” Harry says, wrinkling his nose in disgust. 

“So not Romilda Vane then?” Zach asks, nudging Harry’s leg with his knee. Harry shakes his head violently. 

“No.” Curious. Zach’s knee doesn’t seem to have the same affect on Harry that Malfoy’s knee had last night. He sinks down in his chair and takes a large sip of his drink. He wants desperately to talk about something other than his love life.

“What about you Smith?” Malfoy asks. “Do you have anyone in your sights?” Harry sits up again. 

“Er,” Zach mumbles, turning red. 

“Go on, old bean, who is it?” 

“Old bean?” Harry mouths at Malfoy, raising his eyebrows mockingly. Malfoy kicks him under the table. And there they are. The butterflies. Oh shit. Does he like _Malfoy_? 

“I’m not sure we’re close enough acquaintances for me to share this with you,” Zach says. 

“Oh come off it,” Malfoy says. “We’re going to have our names engraved together on that shiny gold gingerbread house for all eternity. We might as well be friends.” 

“You’re not friends with Harry.”

“Sure I am,” Malfoy says. “Right, Potter?”

“Uh,” Harry says. 

“Then why do you still call him Potter?” Zach challenges. “And for that matter, why are you still calling me Smith?” 

“Sorry, Harry,” Malfoy — or should it be Draco? — says. “And Zach, my deepest apologies.” 

“I guess that’s sincere,” Zach says slowly. “But I’m still not telling you who I like.” Mal—Draco crosses his arms across his chest and pouts. 

“Why not?” 

“What if I tell you and you turn around and try to steal her affections?” Draco’s mouth drops open. 

“Zach, you wound me. How can you think so lowly of me?” 

“Well, _Draco_ ,” Zach says, giving as good as he’s gotten. “Until three minutes ago, I didn’t think we were friends.” 

“Well, either way, I’m not going to ‘steal her affections’ as you so delicately put it. I can assure you, I will have no interest in anyone you might suggest. I’ll even be your wingman for the evening, should you be so inclined.” Zach looks suspiciously at Draco. 

“I think he’s been drinking,” Harry says, helpfully. Draco kicks him again. To combat the butterflies, Harry catches Draco’s eye and smirks at him. Except that actually makes it worse. Oh no. Is he flirting? Probably. Draco quirks one eyebrow up at him. Is Draco flirting back? Why is Harry so bad at this?

He can’t take it any more. He drains the rest of his drink and stands up abruptly. 

“I’m going to get another,” he says, waving vaguely towards the bar before hurrying away. He spots Hermione’s back and makes a beeline towards her. 

“Hermione help,” he says as he slides into the space beside her. 

“What is it?” Hermione asks, immediately alarmed. 

“I — shit,” he starts to say. “Not here. But I need a drink first.” Hermione nods, her eyes wide and concerned. 

…

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asks. They’re ensconced in a corner of the Three Broomsticks, with a muffliato cast around them. 

“I think I’m having feelings,” Harry says. “For one of our group members.” Hermione frowns at him for a moment. “And I’m freaking out about it.” 

“I’m assuming it’s not me,” Hermione says slowly. “So you’re having a gay crisis? Is that what this is?” 

“Maybe? Or a bi-crisis. I still like girls.” 

“Ok,” Hermione says. “Well, I’m glad you feel comfortable talking to me about it.”

“Yes, Hermione, that’s great but what do I _do_?” 

“What do you mean?” Hermione reaches out and puts a comforting hand on his arm. 

“About these feelings.”

“I don’t know. Do you want to act on them?” Harry looks at her with what he hopes are big puppy dog eyes. He’s trying to convey that he doesn’t know what he wants to do. 

“Are you worried Zach will reject you?” Harry’s shoulders droop.

“It’s not Zach,” he says quietly. 

“Oh!” Hermione exclaims, but it’s not an angry exclamation, just a surprised one. Harry wonders if who it is changes things. 

“Are you worried Malfoy will reject you?” she asks in the exact same tone of voice as before. Harry wants to hug her for it, so he does. 

“It’s Draco,” Harry says once he pulls away. “We’re all friends and calling people by their given names now. I’ll fill you in on it later.” 

“Right,” Hermione says. She takes a sip of her wine. Harry notices that it’s a rather large sip. “Well, Harry, I can’t tell you what to do or how to feel. I can just be here to support you in whatever you decide and I’ll be here whatever happens.” Harry feels tears prick in his eyes. That’s not helping anything. 

“I guess I have some thinking to do,” he says. “Thanks, ‘Mione.” He cancels the muffliato and they rejoin the main crowd of students. 

…

The problem is, Harry doesn’t _want_ to think about things. Facing difficult truths shouldn’t be that hard — he’d faced the most difficult one of all when he’d realized he had to sacrifice himself in order for Voldemort to die — but somehow this feels harder than that. Perhaps because this could have lasting consequences. Not that dying didn’t have lasting consequences (ok, well it didn’t but he hadn’t known he’d come back at the time). But he’d have to live with his decision forever. It could change his entire life. 

Though, he supposes, he isn’t making any decisions to be bisexual. He just _is_ bisexual. The decision is whether or not to tell the world. Or to act on his growing feelings for Draco Malfoy. 

The last one, of course, is contingent on Draco liking him back. And the jury is still out on that. Perhaps Harry should try flirting properly with Draco in order to figure it out. That he can do. Maybe. 

…

“Hello,” Harry says, sitting down at the table that Draco is sharing with Parkinson and Zabini. The three of them are drinking out of softly steaming mugs. 

“Potter,” Zabini says, inclining his head. He’s opposite Harry, while Draco is on Harry’s right and Parkinson is on the left. 

“He’s Harry now,” Draco says. 

“I’ve been Harry the whole time,” Harry says. He decides to throw caution to the winds and nudges Draco’s leg with his foot as he says it. 

“Not to me you haven’t.” Fair point. 

“But you’re friends now?” Parkinson — oh blast, if he’s Harry, she must be Pansy now — asks.

“Yes,” Draco says with a sharp nod of his head. “And our friendship shall be forever enshrined on the gingerbread house trophy for all eternity.”

“Pfft,” Blaise says. “You’re not going to win.” 

“Fuck you, Blaise. Yes, we are,” Draco snaps. He shoves Blaise on the arm and Blaise rewards him with a roll of his eyes. 

“What’s your group making?” Harry asks. 

“The Eiffel Tower,” Blaise says, sticking his nose in the air. Harry gives a low whistle. 

“Draco, that does sound impressive,” he says. 

“Then perhaps you should bring more to our group than just your ‘sparkling personality’,” Draco says, using finger quotes to emphasize the words sparkling personality. 

“Harsh,” Harry says, but he smiles like Draco’s given him a compliment. Draco nudges his leg right back and a thrill goes through Harry. Draco doesn’t look at him, just lifts his mug to his mouth and takes a sip. “What is that?” Harry gestures to the mug.

“Hot toddy.” 

“Any good?” 

“It’s delicious. Want to try it?” Draco pushes his mug towards Harry. Harry takes it, not missing the look that passes between Pansy and Blaise. He takes a sip. It’s warm and sweet and lemony, with a hint of cinnamon that Harry guesses is from the firewhisky. 

“That _is_ good,” he says, handing the mug back. Their fingers brush, just for a moment. Harry’s eyes flick to Draco’s and he’s surprised to find Draco looking back at him. Harry looks away quickly, his cheeks hot. “So, Pansy,” Harry continues as though none of that has just happened. “Ron tells me your group is making a moving model of the Whomping Willow for your gingerbread house?”

“Someone put Neville in charge of the design,” Pansy says with a sigh. “And you know how he is about plants.” 

“How is that a gingerbread _house_?” Draco asks. 

“We’re including Hagrid’s hut,” Pansy says, rolling her eyes. 

“I think it sounds cool,” Harry says. 

“If Terry can get the tree to move the way he says he can, it will be,” Pansy allows. “But I’ll believe that when I see it.” 

…

“Harry,” Ron says, walking over to him and using Harry’s head as a shelf for his elbow. He really is _too_ tall. Harry is standing at the bar again, this time drinking a glass of water. Harry puts his glass down and twists in an attempt to see Ron’s face. 

“Yes Ron?” he asks. 

“I’m ashamed to admit,” Ron says. “I lied to you.”

“Oh?” Harry says, for lack of anything better to say.

“I’m not trying to set Pansy up with Neville. I’m trying to get her to go out with me.”

“How’s that going?” 

“I don’t know,” Ron admits. “You know, emotions of a teaspoon and all that.” 

“You could always try just asking her out?” 

“That sounds terrifying.”

“Ron,” Harry says, turning and putting a hand on Ron’s shoulder. The patronizing effect is spoiled somewhat by the fact that he has to reach up. “You’re a Gryffindor. Be brave.” Ron screws up his face in disagreement. Harry sighs. “Is this more or less scary than fighting a Death Eater?”

“More,” Ron says immediately, nodding fast. “Much more.” 

“No, it’s not,” Harry insists. “In fact, I think you should do it right now.”

“ _What_?” 

“Yes,” Harry says, really getting into the idea. “You should. Go on.” He squeezes Ron’s shoulder and then attempts to propel him away from the bar. Ron holds fast. 

“No,” he says. 

“Why not?”

“Scary.” Ron glances over to where Pansy and Draco are in conversation by the fireplace. “Plus, I can’t do it in front of Malfoy.”

“Do you need a wingman?” Harry asks, remembering what Draco had said to Zach earlier in the evening. “I’ll distract Draco and you can ask her if she’d like to snog you in the corner.” 

“Harry!” Ron protests, but Harry is already dragging him towards the Slytherins. 

“Hi Pansy,” Harry says. “Hi Draco.”

“I hate you,” Ron mutters just loud enough for Harry to hear him. Then he smiles awkwardly at Pansy. “Hello.” 

“Draco, come on,” Harry says. He takes Draco by the sleeve and pulls him away. 

“Where are we going?” Draco frowns at him but allows Harry to tug him towards the bar. 

“I don’t know,” Harry admits. “Away.” 

“Huh?”

“I’m trying to be a good wingman.” 

“Oh,” Draco’s confusion clears. He tries to glance back over his shoulder at Pansy and Ron, but Harry yanks hard on his sleeve. “Weaselbee likes Pansy?” 

“Stop calling him that.”

“Isn’t that his actual name?” Draco asks, smirking at Harry. Harry spots two seats at the opposite end of the bar and he steers Draco towards them. 

“Yes, Draco,” Harry deadpans, sitting down. “And yours is Ferret Face.”

“Touché,” Draco says, nudging Harry in the ribs as he sits down next to him. “But Weasley likes Pansy then?” 

“It was news to me too,” Harry says. Draco nods slowly, a thoughtful look on his face as he stares across the crowded pub at Pansy. Alarm jolts through Harry. “Oh, shit. Weren’t you going out with her at one point?” 

“What’s that?” Draco says, turning his attention back to Harry. 

“Wasn’t Pansy your girlfriend?” 

“Only for appearances,” Draco says. 

“So you’re fine with Ron asking her out?” Draco shrugs. 

“If he hurts her, I’ll end him,” he says and then orders hot toddies for the two of them. Harry shifts in his seat until his knee is _accidentally_ pressed up against Draco’s and as he sips his drink, it’s not the only thing filling him with warmth.

…

"Harry, don't freak out," Ginny says, sitting down across from him at breakfast on Sunday.

"What is there to freak out about?" Harry asks, instantly suspicious.

"I'm sure the rest of the school will find out soon enough, but I wanted you to be the first to know."

"Okay," Harry says slowly.

"I'm going out with Luna." Oh. Well, that was unexpected.

“Good for you,” he says. “Is this why you broke up with me?" he asks.

"No. Maybe. I don't know," Ginny says, looking down at her hands. "Feelings are complicated."

"Don't worry, Gin," Harry says. "I completely understand." And he does. He’d spent the rest of the evening chatting with Draco after Ron had successfully managed to ask Pansy out and they’d spent the evening curled up together on an overstuffed armchair, their faces pressed together. And yet, Harry had no further insight into to whether Draco might reciprocate his feelings or not. He clearly wasn’t going to assume the blond did, because that would probably end with Harry on the receiving end of a barrage of hexes. But there were certainly times when it seemed like Draco _might_. 

Like when they’d ordered hot chocolate as the night was winding down, and Harry had gotten whipped cream on his nose. Draco had very gently wiped it off with his thumb, all the while staring at Harry, with his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. 

“Thanks, Harry,” Ginny says, patting him gently on the hand. “For being so understanding.”

“How did you figure it out?” Harry blurts out. “That she liked you back?” 

“She told me,” Ginny says with a shrug. 

“Well that’s not helpful,” Harry mumbles into his toast. He doesn’t mean for Ginny to hear it, but she does. 

“Sorry,” she says. “Is there something you need help with?” She’s got that dangerous Ginny twinkle in her eye and Harry quickly shakes his head. But it’s too late. Ginny’s intrigued now. He can see it in the calculated way in which she’s looking at him. _Oh no_. Ginny’s almost as smart as Hermione, but with all her brother’s horrible, rotten good chess skills. He’s screwed. She’s going to figure it out and then he’s going to have to avoid her all the time because it’s the kind of thing she won’t let lie. 

He can almost see the cogs of her brain working as he struggles to shove the rest of his toast in his mouth. If he can just finish his breakfast and flee the hall, perhaps he’ll get out of this without Ginny subjecting him to the second coming of the Spanish Inquisition. 

“Malfoy?” Ginny asks quietly and Harry slops pumpkin juice down his front. Ginny smirks. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Harry slumps forward and rests his forehead on the table. “I understand your despair,” Ginny continues, clearly ignoring Harry’s discomfort with the subject. “It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking at the best of times, let alone trying to figure out if he swings that way, and if so, whether he likes you.” Harry lifts his head up and then bangs it down on the table. He repeats this until Ginny reaches across the table and grabs him by the hair. 

“Why is my life so difficult?” Harry asks, looking up at Ginny with doleful eyes. She lets go of his hair and he lets his head drop down to the table again. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Ron asks, sitting down next to Ginny. 

“He’s in love with Malfoy.”

“Ha, good one, Gin.” Harry resumes his head banging. Ron pauses, partway through bringing a spoonful of baked beans to his plate, and stares at Harry. The spoon clatters to the table. Baked beans and tomato sauce fly everywhere. “Oh shit, she’s not kidding, is she?” Harry scrunches up his face, worried about how Ron’s about to react, and sits up. He shakes his head, then looks at Ron through mostly closed eyes. Ron is staring with him with a small frown on his face. Harry’s heart sinks to somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. 

“Sucks for you, mate,” Ron says. “Well, at least he’s single.” He shrugs and then picks up the spoon and continues transferring baked beans to his plate like nothing has happened. 

“Neither of you two are helpful,” Harry says. 

“ _I’m_ not helpful?” Ron asks. “You frogmarched me over to Pansy Parkinson last night and just _left me there_.” 

“It worked out though,” Harry says. “Or was that someone else you were playing tonsil quidditch with?” 

“Oh? What’s this?” Ginny asks. She turns and looks gleefully at her brother. 

“Yeah, we’re going out, whatever,” Ron says quickly, shrugging off her interest. He glares at Harry. “Not helpful, Har.” 

“You still have a girlfriend,” Harry says. “You’ve got nothing to complain about.” 

“Fair play.” Ron shovels a piece of bean covered toast in his mouth and chews on it thoughtfully. “Alright,” he says once he’s swallowed. “I’ll wingman for you.” 

“What?” Harry has a bad feeling about this. 

“You helped me, now I’ll help you.” 

“You don’t have to,” Harry says. “I can manage just fine on my own.”

“Is that so?” Ron asks. “How’s that going for you?” Harry slumps back down to the table. “That well, eh?” 

“I hate everything,” Harry says into the tabletop. 

“Maybe I’ll put up some mistletoe,” Ron muses. Harry’s head snaps up. 

“What’s the deal with magical mistletoe anyway?” he asks. 

“You get stuck under it until someone kisses you.” 

“Like muggle mistletoe?” Harry asks. Ginny snorts with laughter. 

“No, Harry,” she says. “You’re physically trapped until someone kisses you and frees you.” Oh. That’s what he’d agreed they should do to all the students? No wonder Hermione had seemed outraged. He wonders if Zach’s talked to Peeves about putting the mistletoe up yet because Harry definitely wants to see that. 

…

“Peeves has agreed to put the mistletoe up on Friday night,” Zach says when Harry asks him about it later that day. “For maximum chaos on Saturday morning.” 

“Brilliant,” Harry says. Hermione looks up from the spells she’s laying down for the second layer of the gingerbread house. 

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” she asks. 

“Yes,” Draco says firmly. “It’s not like you have snog someone to get out from under it. A chaste peck will do the trick.”

“We’re just spreading holiday cheer,” Zach insists. “With a pinch of chaos.” He grins. 

“Are you going to hover around Susan’s table in the hopes that she asks you to kiss her?” Draco asks. 

“What?” Zach looks confused. Draco’s face pinches in irritation and he takes a notebook out of his pocket and strikes a line through something written there. “Are you trying to figure out who I fancy?” 

“Well you wouldn’t tell me,” Draco says. “What choice did you leave me?” Zach slaps a hand to his forehead and Harry does his best not to laugh. Instead, he catches Hermione’s eye and grins at her. 

“Draco,” Zach protests. 

“I have it narrowed down to Hannah Abbott, one of the Patil twins or Susan Bones.” 

“Draco.” 

“Have I missed the mark?” 

“Draco.” 

“Lavender Brown?”

“How do I get him to shut up?” Zach asks Harry. 

“Not a clue,” Harry says. 

“Tell me who you fancy!” Draco all but screeches. Hermione pauses in her spell casting and straightens up to watch the showdown. 

“Why do you even care?” 

“Because it’s Christmas and Christmas is a time to be with the ones you love. Or the ones you fancy.” 

“Draco, it’s December 5 th ,” Hermione says. 

“ _And_ at Christmas, you tell the truth,” Draco continues, ignoring Hermione. 

“I’m not telling you,” Zach insists. 

“What if you whisper it?” 

“Draco.” 

“Look, fine. You really want to know why I care?” Draco snaps. “I really love Christmas. Like, really love it.It’s my favorite holiday, hands down. I love the decorations, the songs, the presents, the joy that’s infused into the entire month. Everything. But last year’s was absolute _shit_. So, I want this year’s to be amazing and so I want us all to be happy and that means helping you ask out the person you fancy.” Draco’s a bit red in the face at the end of this outburst. “Because we’re friends now,” he adds, a bit more quietly. He runs a shaky hand through his hair and refuses to look at any of them. 

“It’s Mandy Brocklehurst,” Zach says, equally as quiet. Draco looks up and his face breaks into a smile. 

“I fucking knew it,” he says. “Right. Next weekend, I’ll be your wingman. We’ll brainstorm some conversation topics and…” He trails off. He pulls out his notebook and starts scribbling in it. Harry, Zach and Hermione all share a look. 

“Draco,” Hermione says after several minutes of silence and scribbling. “What about you? Won’t you be lonely at Christmas?” 

“I’m not important,” Draco says, waving his hand dismissively and Harry’s heart breaks just a little bit for him. 

“Yes, you are,” he finds himself saying. He sees Draco’s cheeks turn pink, but the blond doesn’t look up from his notebook. “Are you going home for Christmas?” Harry knows that Draco usually spends Christmas with his family. The only Christmas he’d ever seen Draco stay at school (aside from Triwizard Tournament year) was second year. 

“Um,” Draco says, looking down at his feet. “Mother said it might be better if I stayed at school this year.” His voice is very quiet. “What with the remodel and all.”

“Great,” Harry says. His voice is maybe a little too loud. “I’m staying too.” This hadn’t been the plan — he was supposed to be going to the Burrow, but he thinks Mrs. Weasley will understand. 

“You are?”

“I stay every year,” Harry says. “Christmas at Hogwarts is wicked.” This is true and the more that Harry thinks about it, the more he really does want one last Christmas here. 

“Really?” Draco looks at him for the first time since Harry had said he was important. 

“Yes,” Harry says firmly. “We’ll have a great time. I’ll make sure of it.” The smile Draco gives him this time is even bigger than the one before. But Harry’s still holding out hope for that wide, carefree grin. 

…

“Why does this castle have so many bloody floors?” Zach asks on Wednesday as they’re working on the fifth floor. 

“Because it’s a large, magical castle?” Harry suggests.

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“Don’t worry, Zach,” Hermione says. We still have ten days.”

“I’m not worried,” Zach says. “I’m just getting tired of making gingerbread.”

“Only two more floors after this,” Harry says, inserting some fake cheerfulness into his voice. Zach sighs. Harry shrugs and goes back to working the door lintel he’s piping. 

Harry’s become a dab hand at royal icing in the past few days, which is good as it means he finally brings more to the group than just his sparkling personality. He’s even started helping paint some of the rice paper portraits. They’re not nearly as good as Zach’s but they’re passable. 

He and Draco often stand side by side decorating. Harry with the white royal icing, Draco with the color changing, glowing icing that they use for particular embellishments. Occasionally they accidentally brush hands, or elbows, or shoulders. Well, in Harry’s case, it’s not always accidental but it probably is in Draco’s. He thinks. 

He’s driving himself mad trying to figure out whether Draco likes him or not. He can’t decide if he does and Harry’s just being slow about it or if he doesn’t and Harry’s reading too much into nothing. He wishes he could just ask but he’s too afraid of being hexed into next Tuesday. 

…

Ron picks Thursday to spring his mistletoe plan into action. It’s a day that Ron knows Hermione has class and that Zach is off making more gingerbread. How he knows that Draco has a free period at the same time Harry does is a mystery. Harry suspects Pansy’s involvement. 

Harry walks into their empty classroom after lunch, ready to work on more rice paper portraits, when he feels the pull of magic above him. 

“Oh _no_ ,” he says. He looks up and glares at the offending mistletoe. “Ron!” He shakes his fist at the empty air. 

What Ron clearly hadn’t thought through with his plan, is Draco’s longtime love of teasing Harry. Indeed, rather than helping Harry, Draco spends the first three minutes just laughing at him. 

“That’s not helpful,” Harry pouts. He’s crossed his arms and is keeping up what he hopes is an effectual glare. 

“How did that even get there?” Draco asks as soon as he can talk. 

“I don’t know,” Harry says. Because really, he doesn’t. For all he knows it wasn’t Ron. 

“And you just walked into it?”

“Well I didn’t do it on purpose if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“How long have you been stuck?”

“About ten minutes now.” Harry had debated saying it had been longer but he was worried Draco would find this to be another reason to laugh at him rather than help. 

“Poor Harry,” Draco says. He’s put his bag down by the desk now, and is walking towards Harry. Harry’s mouth goes dry. “Such a damsel in distress.” 

“Are you my knight in shining armor then?” Draco lifts one eyebrow at him and Harry feels his cheeks go red. 

“I could be.” Hope flares in Harry’s chest. “Or I could just leave you there.” Draco turns away and walks slowly around the classroom. 

Clampy has been true to his word and has brought in several couches and put them in the empty corners. The room is actually quite comfortable now. Harry’s spent many a nice afternoon doing his homework in the comfort of their private classroom, curled up on a couch in front of the fire with a blanket over his lap. It has improved his quality of life tenfold and he wonders if they can make this a permanent thing. Maybe like some sort of house agnostic common room. But now is not the time to ponder these things. Now is the time to convince Draco Malfoy to kiss him and free him from this mistletoe prison. 

“You would’t be that cruel,” Harry says. “Oh wait. Yes, you would.” 

“Rude,” Draco says without turning around. 

“It’s true,” Harry says with a shrug. “Although, now we’re friends, so it might be different.” At this, Draco turns to face him again. 

“We are, aren’t we?”

“Best friends,” Harry says with as much sincerity as he can muster. Draco narrows his eyes. 

“Don’t push it,” he says. Harry decides to push it. 

“Oh wonderful Draco,” he says. “Bestest of best friends. Please look on me with benevolence. I want nothing more than for your lovely mouth to free me from this horrid prison.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yes,” Harry says because it’s true. Perhaps not the best friends part, but the mouth part is certainly true. Of course, now he’s worried he’s said too much and is about to both be left trapped in the mistletoe _and_ cursed into next Tuesday. 

“My lovely mouth?” Draco asks, the corners of said lovely mouth lifting in a smirk. He takes a step towards Harry.

“I’ve been told flattery will get you everywhere.” Harry’s heart is beating at about a thousand beats a minute. 

“Well go on then,” Draco says. 

“What?”

“Flatter me.” Harry’s mind goes blank. He can think of lots of things he likes about Draco — the way he concentrates on his cauldron during potions, his loyalty to his friends, the ridiculous smirk he wears when he thinks he’s being funny. 

“Uh, you’ve got a nice face,” Harry says. Oh, _Merlin_ , he’s bad at this. 

“You should write poetry,” Draco deadpans. But he takes a step closer. 

“I like the way you make me feel like the biggest idiot in the world, but it’s okay because I’m your idiot.” Draco’s mouth falls slightly open. “By that I mean I’m your idiot _friend_ ,” Harry adds quickly. 

“Well, you’re certainly not my smartest friend,” Draco says, taking another step towards Harry. He’s almost within arm’s range now. “In fact, you’re quite slow on the uptake sometimes.” 

“You’re very good at insults.” 

“And you’re very bad at flattery,” Draco says, that ridiculous smirk back on his face. “But alright, I’ll put you out of your misery.” If Harry thought his heart had been beating fast a minute ago, it has nothing on what it’s doing now. He has to remind himself to breathe as Draco takes another step and closes the distance between them. 

Draco’s looking him right in the eye and Harry has to force himself not to look away. The smirk on his face softens as he leans in. And then, because Harry’s an idiot, he somehow jerks his head to the side and they end up knocking foreheads. 

“Merlin, Potter,” Draco says, chuckling softly. “Have you never kissed anyone before?” Harry’s face flushes. 

“I—“ he starts to say but then Draco cups his cheek with one hand and presses their lips together. And oh shit, accidental knee nudging and hand brushing pale in comparison to actual kissing. There’s no going back from this. 

“Am I interrupting something?” comes a voice from behind Draco and Harry could damn will curse Zach into next _year_. Draco pulls away, his cheeks a soft pink. 

“Harry trapped himself under some mistletoe,” he says, all nonchalant. He walks away, cool as anything and starts a conversation with Zach about the Falmouth Falcons like he hasn’t just changed Harry’s life forever. (Zach and Draco had discovered to their great delight that they both supported the same Quidditch team: Zach because he lived near them; Draco because their club motto was: ‘Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads,’ and his seven year old self had found that inspirational.)

Harry steps out from under the mistletoe. He pulls out his wand and takes it down. He’s about to vanish it when the sentimental side of him that he didn’t knew he had decides to pocket it. 

…

“Did it work?” Ron asks at dinner that evening. Harry decides to play dumb. 

“Did what work?” He reaches across the table and picks up a chicken cutlet with his fork. 

“The mistletoe.” 

“That was you?” Harry asks like he doesn’t know. Ron nods, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“If by ‘did it work’ you’re asking if I got stuck under some cursèd mistletoe for half my afternoon, then yes.” The smile fades from Ron’s face. 

“Shit, mate,” he says. “Sorry.”Harry shoves him playfully on the arm. 

“I’m kidding. It wasn’t all afternoon, but I did get stuck.” Harry piles mashed potatoes onto his plate. “You forgot to take into account that Draco can be a right bastard at times.” He ladles gravy onto his potatoes. “He found it hilarious that I was trapped.” Ron snorts in laughter. Harry elbows him. “He did kiss me though.” Ron stops laughing.

“And?” 

“And what?” 

“And what happened? Are you two an item now?” Ron leans forward and stares expectantly at Harry, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“Since when were you a third year Hufflepuff?” 

“I see Malfoy’s rubbing off on you,” Ron jokes. “But stop stalling, you arse. What happened?” 

“Zach walked in,” Harry says, turning to glare at the back of the offending Hufflepuff’s head. 

“Oh _no_.”

“So I don’t know where we stand.” 

“Guess I’ll need to wingman better tomorrow night then,” Ron says. He’s the got worrying look he wears when he plays chess on his face. Harry gulps. 

“Tomorrow night?” he asks. 

“Pub night, of course!”

“Of course.” 

“Maybe I’ll push you both into a snowbank,” Ron muses. Harry is so screwed. 

…

“Thank Merlin it’s Friday,” Draco says collapsing onto one of the sofas in their classroom. He lays a hand dramatically across his forehead. 

“Difficult week, Draco?” Zach asks.

“Terrible,” Draco intones, nodding seriously. 

“Kissing Harry was that bad?” Hermione asks. Harry glares at her. Whose side is she on?

“The worst,” Draco says. He catches Harry’s eye and smirks. 

“I don’t think you mean that,” Zach says and takes top place among Harry’s friends. 

“It could have been worse,” Draco allows. “At least he’s decently fit.” Draco rakes his eyes up and down Harry’s body and Harry blushes crimson. 

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be as attractive as you,” Harry says and oh, Merlin, did he actually say that out loud? Malfoy quirks an eyebrow at him and Harry looks away quickly. Zach watches their interaction with interest. He has a smile playing around his lips that worries Harry. 

“So you’re saying we should leave off adding the sixth floor until tomorrow and instead go to the pub?” Zach asks. 

“Yes,” Draco says. “One hundred percent yes.” 

“Yeah, alright,” Harry says, trying to sound nonchalant. Really though, he just wants to forget the last exchange ever happened. 

“Did we want to actually have dinner there?” Hermione asks. “Just the four of us? For group unity and all that?”

“Are you trying to give us a very solid alibi for the mistletoe prank?” Draco asks. Hermione opens her eyes wide in a mock appearance of innocence. 

“Why ever would you think that?” she asks. Draco throws his head back and laughs. 

…

When they get to the Three Broomsticks, Zach insists on buying everyone a round of drinks and sends them off in search of a table. He says something about it being Hufflepuff hospitality and Draco rolls his eyes but lets him do it. 

Harry tries not to make it obvious that he wants to sit next to Draco. He thinks he’s managed to wrangle it without anyone noticing when Hermione catches his eye and winks. He kicks her under the table. Not hard, of course, just enough to hopefully stop her teasing him. Or saying anything embarrassing. 

Presently Zach comes back to the table, levitating several drinks ahead of him. Harry sniffs his suspiciously and finds that it’s a firewhisky and soda. Zach clearly pays more attention to everyone than Harry’s realized because as he looks around the table, he notices that Draco has a gobli-gin and tonic, while Hermione has a glass of red wine. 

“To the Chosen Buns,” Zach says, raising his beer in a toast. They clink glasses and echo his sentiments. The name no longer makes Harry cringe. Instead, it feels like a ridiculous in joke, which he supposes it is. He likes that they have in jokes. 

They chat about schoolwork and quidditch until one of the bar staff comes around to take their dinner orders. Harry has never actually eaten here, so he orders what sounds like the safest option: shepherd’s pie. It’s difficult to mess up meat and potatoes after all. Zach orders a some wine for the table. Draco insists on choosing the bottle. 

The meal is pleasant. It’s nice to be surrounded by good food and good company and Harry can imagine himself going to meals like this in the nebulous future that he rarely thinks about in concrete terms. He mentions this and Draco turns to look at him with interest.

“What are your plans post-Hogwarts?” he asks. Harry shrugs.

“I figured I would be an auror,” he says. Is it his imagination or does Draco look disappointed in that answer?

“Is that what you want to do then?” Zach asks. 

“I think so,” Harry says. “I’m not sure what else I’m good at.” 

“You don’t necessarily have to be _good_ at something to choose it as your career,” Draco says. He’s picked up his wine glass and is swirling the wine around, watching it. “You should find something you enjoy, if you can.” 

“Well, what are your plans?” Harry asks. Draco shrugs. 

“My parents want me to be a barrister,” he says, pulling a face. “But I think I’ll see if Slug and Jigger’s would take me on as a potion’s apprentice.”

Zach and Hermione launch into a discussion about healing schools and Harry half listens. He’s busy looking at Draco. He hadn’t known that Draco had been interested in going into potions as a career. He supposes, with the school year partly gone, that he should think about what he wants to do with his life. He’d just always assumed he would become an auror. Coming back to get his N.E.W.T.s had just been a formality. But maybe Draco’s right. Maybe Harry should find something that he enjoys. 

“I wonder if any of the league teams would take me on as a seeker,” he muses into his food. 

“What’s that?” Draco asks. Harry looks up. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

“Oh, nothing,” he says quickly, but Draco is looking at him with that little knowing smile again. And it makes Harry feel warm inside. 

…

“I’m very excited for tomorrow,” Zach says as they’re finishing their wine. The plates have been cleared and now they’re just sitting around the table like it’s a normal pub night, which Harry supposes it is now. Other students will be arriving soon. “I reckon if we stick our heads into the kitchen around ten am, we should see maximum chaos.”

“I do feel a little guilty,” Hermione says. 

“Having been on the receiving end of some magical mistletoe,” Harry says. “It’s not too terrible. Provided the only person around doesn’t enjoy torturing you.” He reaches out and shoves Draco gently on the arm. 

“I wouldn’t say that was _torture_ ,” Draco says, smirking at him. 

“Leaving me trapped wasn’t torture?” Harry asks. He jumps slightly as he feels a leg press against his under the table. He knows without looking that it’s Draco’s. 

“No,” Draco insists. “That was fun.” Harry sticks his tongue out at him. “Very mature, Potter.” 

“Oh good grief, you two,” Zach says. “Get a room already.” Draco’s head snaps around to stare at Zach who’s sitting on his other side. 

“I beg your pardon?” The temperature of the room feels like it’s dropped ten degrees. Harry wants to tell Zach to shut up, but his tongue feels like it’s glued to the roof of his mouth. 

“Oh, you heard me,” Zach snaps. He sits up straighter in his chair.“All this flirting.” He waves one hand around. “Just snog already.”

“I don’t know to what you are referring,” Draco says coldly. “But I assure you, anything you’ve noticed is all in your head.” He removes his leg from Harry’s and Harry immediately feels cold from the loss of it. 

He was wrong if he thought that Draco keeping him trapped under the mistletoe was torture. This on the other hand. This is torture. These hints that Draco does like him followed by the whiplash from him indicating he doesn’t. Pure torture. He wants to yell and cry at the same time. 

“Draco,” Hermione says firmly. “You don’t have to pretend with us. We’re your friends. You can let your guard down.” Like you have been, Harry wants to add. Or, like Draco had been until Zach had pointed it out. Harry wants to shove the proverbial Schrödinger’s cat back in its box. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Draco insists. 

“Draco,” Hermione says again. She reaches across the table and takes his hand. “Ron talked to Pansy.” Draco inhales sharply and two pink spots appear on his cheeks. Harry turns to stare at Hermione. This is news to him. 

“What do you want me to say?” Draco sneers. “Do you want me to admit that yes, I’m gay? Fine. I’m gay. There. Happy now? Go on, spread it around. Ruin my reputation. See if I care.” He pulls his hand out of her grasp and stands up. “It’s not like it was in great shape anyway.”

“Draco,” Hermione cries, finally finding her voice again, but he ignores her and storms out of the pub. Harry sits, staring at the door as it shuts behind him. Then he turns back to Hermione. 

“‘Mione,” he says in a small voice. “What the hell was that? Ron talked to Pansy? And didn’t tell me?” Hermione’s lips are drawn together in a straight, worried line. 

“Ron didn’t talk to Pansy,” she says, her face crestfallen. “But I had a hunch about Draco and so I—.”

“—So you made him out himself?” Zach asks. “Merlin, Hermione, that’s cruel.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she says. A tear spills down her face. “I just wanted him to stop toying with Harry’s emotions.” She puts her face in her hands and sobs. Harry stares wildly around the pub, but Draco’s definitely gone. He’s left his cloak, and Harry knows Draco is far too stubborn to come back for it. He throws his own cloak around his shoulders and makes a decision. He picks up Draco’s cloak and sprints out of the Three Broomsticks. 

Draco’s made it a surprising way in that time. It takes Harry a full two minutes of running to catch up with him.

“Draco,” he calls. Draco turns around to stare at him, his mouth an angry sneer. Harry doesn’t slow down, instead slamming into him and toppling them both into the nearest snowbank. Mentally, he thanks Ron for the idea.

“Potter, what the hell?” Draco asks, struggling to get out from under Harry. Harry shuts him up by leaning forward and capturing Draco’s lips with his. After a moment, Draco stops struggling and instead threads his hands into Harry’s hair, kissing him back with vigor. Draco tastes of gin, which Harry should have expected, and his lips are soft and pliant, parting easily as Harry’s tongue slips its way inside Draco’s mouth. Draco pulls back after a moment. “What are you doing?” he asks. 

“Kissing you.”

“Why? So you can fuck with me later?” 

“What?” Harry face goes slack. He had thought Draco had known Harry liked him back, but Draco’s clearly convinced that Harry’s only doing this to use it against him later. It hurts that Draco would even think that of him. “No. I—I thought you liked me.”

“So you, what? Thought you could take advantage of that?”

“No!” Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to put into words what he’s feeling. “I like you.” It’s the best he can manage. 

“No, you don’t,” Draco says bitterly. “No one does. Not really.” He pushes Harry off of him and snatches his cloak up from where it is laying in the snow. He swings it around his shoulders and starts to stalk away.

“Draco, wait,” Harry calls, scrambling to his feet. 

“No.”

“Draco!” Harry is frantic now. 

“Fuck off, Potter.” Harry keeps following him.

“Draco.” 

“I said. Fuck. Off.” And then Harry’s blown off of his feet by the depulso that Draco aims at him. He lands in the snowbank. He stays there long after Draco has left, until his clothes are damp and he’s numb from the cold. 

…

Harry doesn’t see Draco the next day. He had hoped Draco might show up to see the chaos in the kitchens, but even as Harry stays long after Zach and Hermione have left, he doesn’t show. 

It’s a shame, because the chaos is glorious, all screaming first years and awkward fourth years. And yet, Harry can’t bring himself to smile. Not even when Ron pretends to get stuck over and over again so that Pansy has to kiss him and she gets so annoyed with him that she douses him in icing sugar before laughing and kissing him anyway. 

Harry is angry with Hermione. He knows she was only trying to help, but she’d ruined whatever tenuous friendship he’d had with Draco. And snuffed out any hopes of them getting together. 

And it hurts. Merlin, it hurts. 

Harry had finally picked himself up from the snowbank when he couldn’t feel his arse anymore and walked himself slowly back to the castle. He’d decided, fuck it, he was Harry Potter and if that didn’t mean he could abuse the system a bit, what good was his name for, and convinced a prefect to give him the password to the prefect’s bathroom. 

He’d sat in the warm, bubbly water until his fingers had turned to prunes and he could finally feel all of his extremities again. But he’d still felt numb inside. Or at least he had until he’d tumbled into bed and the events of the night had washed over him. 

He’d had Draco. He’d kissed him! And it had been wonderful. It had been everything he’d hoped it would be. And then he’d lost him. 

He’d played that moment in the snowbank over and over in his head, tying to figure out what he could have said to get Draco to stay. To get him to believe him. But no matter how many times he’d played it in his head, nothing worked and he’d been left with the aching loss of him. 

When Harry finally deigns to join Hermione and Zach, they’re putting the finishing touches on the layout for the sixth floor. They’re working efficiently together, but there’s none of the warm camaraderie of the past few days. It seems that Zach is annoyed with Hermione as well. Good. 

“Hi, Harry,” she says tentatively as he walks into the room. He grunts in response. 

“What happened last night?” Zach asks. “After you ran out of the pub?” Harry shrugs. 

“I kissed him in a snowbank and then he accused me of using his affections so that I could make fun of him later and then he left.” 

“I take it you did say that you weren’t using him,” Zach asks drily. 

“Of course. I told him I liked him,” Harry says. “And he said that couldn’t be true because no one did.” 

“Oh,” Hermione says. She manages to fill that one syllable with so much sadness and empathy that Harry finds his anger towards her softening. Zach, on the other hand, looks thoughtful. 

“I think,” he says. “You need to get him to understand that you really do care for him.” 

“I know,” Harry says, walking over to them. As he nears the gingerbread house, Clampy appears out of nowhere and hands him a piping back of royal icing. “But how do I do that? How do I get him to believe me?” 

“You show him. And you show him every day until he believes you.” Harry frowns. “You Gryffindors are all about the big gestures, but I think this needs a bit of Hufflepuff persistence. It’s the small, everyday actions that really show you care.” 

…

Harry insists on sitting next to Draco in potions on Monday morning. 

“What do you want?” Draco hisses. 

“To sit next to you,” Harry says. “Because I like you.” And he leaves it at that. 

…

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Draco asks when Harry sits next to him at breakfast on Tuesday morning. 

“Sitting with you,” Harry says. “Because I like you.” He ladles some porridge into a bowl. “My name’s Harry by the way.” He half stands in order to get a spoonful of brown sugar for his porridge and when he sits back down, he purposefully rests his leg against Draco’s. He decides it’s progress when Draco doesn’t move away. 

…

“What? Lunch as well?” Draco asks when Harry slides in next to him at the Slytherin table. 

“Of course,” Harry says. “I want to spend time with you.” He pulls his plate towards himself and tucks into a ham and cheese toasty. Draco looks at him suspiciously for a moment but then shrugs. 

“Fine,” he says. 

“We’re putting in the final floor today,” Harry says. “If you care to join us.” Draco had been conspicuously absent from their decorating session on Monday. Draco makes a noncommittal noise. “I’d love to see you,” Harry adds. 

“Maybe,” Draco says. 

“And I believe Hermione has an apology for you.” 

“Does she?”

“Yes,” Harry says. He’s not going to make Hermione’s apology for her so he leaves it at that. Draco sighs. 

“Fine.”

“Wonderful. I’ve missed you.” And he slides his leg across to rest against Draco’s. He might be imagining it, but he thinks he sees the corners of Draco’s mouth lift. 

…

“If you thought I was going to leave you alone for dinner, you’re an idiot,” Harry says as he plonks himself down opposite Draco at the Slytherin table. 

“Hello to you too,” Draco says. 

“No need to look so happy,” Harry teases. Draco looks up at him and lifts an eyebrow. 

“Time to see if your food is any better than ours,” Ron says sitting next to Harry. 

“Ron,” Pansy says. “Don’t be silly. It’s all the same food. Now, Harry switch places with me.” She’s been sitting next to Draco but now gets up. Harry doesn’t need telling twice. 

“Thanks,” he whispers as he passes her on the treck around the table. She winks at him. He knows she’s not just doing it for him, but he’s grateful nonetheless.

“Much better,” Pansy says, linking her arm through Ron’s. Ron turns and kisses the top of her head. 

“How’s your gingerbread project going?” Harry asks. “Have you gotten the whomping willow moving yet?” 

“I’m not telling you anything,” Ron says. “If you lot are going to hide in your own private classroom, then you don’t get to know what everyone else is doing.” Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Just making conversation, Ronald,” he says. 

“You can’t blame him, Harry,” Draco says, leaning in conspiratorially. “He’s not used to _polite_ company.” 

“I’m not sure if you count as polite,” Ron retorts and Harry laughs. Draco elbows him so Harry elbows him back. 

“Shove over, Potter,” Zabini says, pushing him towards Draco. Harry doesn’t need telling twice. Draco makes a point to look put upon, but this time, he’s the one who moves his leg over to rest against Harry’s. 

…

“You’re sure he’s coming?” Hermione asks. She’s nervously twisting the sleeve of her jumper between her hands. 

“He said he would,” Harry says. They’re standing in their classroom, all in a row with Zach on the end, staring at the door. 

“Alright,” Hermione says. A moment later, Harry is proven correct as the door swings open. Draco saunters in, but Harry can tell he’s nervous. His saunter looks a bit forced. 

“Hi Draco,” Hermione says. Draco nods at her and stops walking. “I am so sorry for the other night. I never meant to put you in that position.” Draco blinks at her, his face impassive. Hermione bites her lip but continues on. “Harry’s my best friend and I was thinking more about his feelings than yours. That’s not an excuse for what I did, but I want you to know it was a mistake and it wasn’t done out of any sort of malice.”

“I am also sorry,” Zach says. “I didn’t realize you weren’t out. You were flirting with Harry so brazenly, I figured everyone must already know. I shouldn’t have been so flippant with my comments.” 

“I’m not sorry,” Harry says. “I meant to kiss you in that snowbank because I like you and quite frankly I’d like to do it again.” Draco looks between them for a long moment. 

“Apology accepted,” he says. “Shall we?” He indicates the gingerbread Hogwarts. “Harry mentioned we were putting the final floor on today?” He doesn’t say anything about Harry’s admission, but he does stand next to Harry while they put together the top floor of the castle and even squeezes Harry gently on the arm before leaving for the evening when they’re done. 

…

On Wednesday, Professor Weasley insists that the class pair up for a mystery assignment. Harry is instantly suspicious and suspects interference on the part of Ron. But he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He walks over to Draco. 

“Partner?” he asks. 

“Yeah, alright,” Draco says. 

“No, really,” Professor Weasley says, hurrying over to them. “I absolutely insist that you partner with Mr. Potter.” 

“Um, I have,” Draco says. He narrows his eyes and looks at Harry who shrugs. 

“Blame Ron,” he says. 

“Now that you have all partnered up,” Professor Weasley says. “I need you to collect your cloaks and meet me in the Entrance Hall. Do you all have your apparition licenses?” There’s a chorus of yeses. “Wonderful. I’ll explain more once we’ve gathered there. See you all in ten minutes.”

…

“We’ll be going to a small village on the Isle of Skye,” Professor Weasley says once they’re all assembled. “They’re being harassed by a Yuki-onna. Can anyone tell me what that is?” To nobody’s surprise, Hermione’s hand shoots up. 

“Miss Granger?”

“Yuki-onna are Japanese snow demons. They are often in the form of feetless women, who float about the snow. They vary by region, but most of them are known to kill and eat at least part of their victims.” 

“That is correct,” Professor Weasley says. “Five points to Gryffindor. Now this village reports being haunted by a single Yuki-onna, so we are going to split into groups of two, which you have already done, and hunt it. Yuki-onna, as snow demons, do not like heat, so you can get them to move using incendio. We are not aiming to destroy this Yuki-onna, merely to trap it so that the Ministry can transfer it back to Japan.” He passes out a long, thin silver chain to each pair. “You can tie them up using these as silver subdues them.” He then passes out each team’s apparition coordinates, which are scribbled on scraps of parchment. As a group, they follow him out of the castle grounds, listening as he lectures them further on Yuki-onna, and then, pair by pair, they apparate away. 

…

Despite the fact that the Isle of Skye is part of Scotland, the weather is the complete opposite of Hogwarts. When Harry and Draco arrive, they are greeted by a gust of icy wind. Harry squints into it, wincing as snow crystals pummel his face. He can barely see Draco, despite the fact that they are hardly a meter apart. He stomps his way through the snow until he’s standing right next to the blond. 

“Lovely weather,” Draco says, a small smile playing about his features. Harry nudges him. 

“Well, come on then.” They start walking, picking a direction at random. It feels like an exercise in futility. They can’t see more than five meters ahead of them, and the wind blows snow and ice into their faces, making them squint. 

After walking for two minutes through the knee high snow drifts, Harry can’t feel his feet. He angles himself so that he moves closer to Draco, then reaches out and grabs for his hand. Draco squeezes his hand and then lets go in order to thread their fingers together. 

“I should have brought gloves,” Harry says, leaning into Draco so he can be heard over the howling wind. 

“I would call you an idiot, but then I would be one too.”

“You could be my idiot,” Harry says. 

“Harry,” Draco says. “Don’t.” And good grief, Harry is tired of these mixed signals. He stops walking and pulls Draco around to face him.

“Why not?” he asks.

“I’m not worth it.”

“Bullshit. I think you are.” Draco looks for a moment like he believes Harry. Then he shakes his head. 

“No,” he says. “As much as I want it, it would never work. You’re Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World and I’m Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, only allowed to attend Hogwarts as part of my probation.” 

“I don’t care about that.” 

“You don’t care about this?” Draco pulls up his left sleeve and shoves his forearm into Harry’s face. The pale skin there is marked by a grinning skull and snake. Harry reaches out and grabs hold of Draco’s arm, bringing it down in front of him. He traces the skull with the fingers of his free hand and Draco shivers.

“I don’t care about it,” Harry says again. “You’re more than this.”

“What if I’m not?” 

“Don’t be daft. Of course you are.” Draco looks up at him, his face still guarded but hopeful. Harry drops Draco’s arm, instead reaching out to pull him close by his waist. 

“So, what? We’re doing this?” Draco asks. Harry nods.

“We’re doing this,” he says. He leans forward, fully intending to kiss Draco. And of course that’s when the Yuki-onna appears. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Harry says, pulling away again. Of _course_ he would get cockblocked by a demon. He pulls out his wand and hits the Yuki-onna with a nonverbal incendio. It shrieks and retreats. Draco turns, pulling out his own wand as he does, and throws the silver chain in the air. He directs it with his wand and the chain quickly circles the demon. The chain tightens and Draco winds it around the Yuki-onna several times just for good measure. It glares at them, its eyes flashing dark through the snow, but it doesn’t move. 

“That was some nice teamwork,” Harry says. He partly wonders if this was all too easy. But then, this entire endeavor seemed designed to bring Harry and Draco together, rather than to teach the eighth years anything. 

“Yes, well, it interrupted us,” Draco says, shrugging one shoulder.

“I should probably tell Bill — er, Professor Weasley — that we’ve caught it.” Harry summons the happiest memory he can and conjures his patronus. He speaks to it quickly and then sends it off. Then he turns back to Draco. “Where were we?” 

“I believe you were inelegantly asking me out.” Harry snorts with laughter, then pulls Draco into his arms. 

“Inelegantly?”

“You’re a heathen, Potter. I thought I’d made this clear.”

“Mm, so you’re deigning to date me? You’re dating below your social standing?”

“Exactly,” Draco says, smirking. Harry leans in and kisses the smirk off of Draco’s face. And it’s glorious. 

…

“Are you just going to spend the rest of the year sitting at the Slytherin table?” Draco asks. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Harry asks. “You’re here.” Draco looks down at his lap and smiles shyly. 

“You’re sweet.” 

“Sparkling personality,” Harry says. “I told you.” Draco nudges him with his knee, but he’s smiling nonetheless. Harry hooks his foot around Draco’s calf, wishing he could be more outwardly affectionate, but they haven’t discussed that yet, so he restricts himself to just what’s under the table. 

Harry looks around. Pansy’s sitting at the Gryffindor table with Ron. Hermione is sitting with Anthony at the Ravenclaw table. Neville is seemingly holding court at the Hufflepuff table which makes Harry wonder how much he must be getting laid. 

But it’s more than that. When Harry looks harder, he sees students from all years mingling at all the house tables. And instead of it seeming weird, like it might have a few years ago, it seems right. Of course Ginny and Luna should sit arm in arm at the Hufflepuff table. Why the hell wouldn’t they? 

It reminds him, strangely (or maybe not so strangely) of the Christmas meals he’s had while staying at Hogwarts over the holidays. Those bizarre lunches where students and teachers mingled and houses had no meaning. And he thinks, maybe that is the spirit of Christmas. To reach across the aisles between houses, across the differences that separate them. To remember that everyone is human. But then, maybe he’s getting stupidly sentimental because he’s just asked out Draco Malfoy and Draco Malfoy has said yes. Maybe that’s it. 

…

“Before you get too excited,” Zach says as they gather in their classroom after dinner. “We need to attach the roof and build the various towers which is going to be annoying, fiddly work.”

“Because the rest of this castle has been so incredibly easy,” Draco deadpans. Zach glares at him for a moment before continuing. 

“Clampy is going to help with the turrets. I will roll out the gingerbread, we will shape it into the towers and then Clampy will take the towers to be baked. We’ll repeat the process for some of the roof sections as well. Any questions?”

“When do we start?” Harry asks, grinning. 

“That’s the spirit.” 

It takes them until almost two in the morning to get all of the pieces shaped, baked and into some semblance of order. And although he’s tired and covered in sugar and flour, Harry is happier than he has been in months. As he and Hermione stumble up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower, Hermione gives him a questioning look and Harry’s answering grin tells her all she needs to know. 

…

“Good morning ,” Harry says, sliding into the seat next to Draco. He wants very much to kiss him, but he doesn’t. Not in front of everyone. Not yet. 

“How are you so chipper?” Draco asks. He’s bent over his cup of tea like it’s the only thing standing between him and death. 

“I take it you’re not a morning person?”

“How could you tell?” 

“Something in the way you’re sucking the extra liquid out of that teabag tipped me off,” Harry says. He leans up against Draco for a quick moment, before tangling their legs together under the table. 

“I’m _tired_ ,” Draco says. “I’m running on five hours of sleep.”

“You and me both, dear.” 

“Yes but you’re an inhuman fiend who has more energy than anyone has a right to have at this time in the morning.”

“Draco, it’s almost nine.” 

“ _Too early_ ,” Draco says with a scowl. Harry reaches over and squeezes his hand. “And you being cute and affectionate does not forgive your egregious energy levels.” 

“You said I was cute!”

“That‘s the wrong takeaway,” Draco says, slumping forward and resting his head on the table. But Harry just grins.

…

Somehow, without either of them saying anything, all of their friends know. Ron seems particularly pleased for Harry. Harry suspects it’s because Ron is convinced he helped get them together. But he’ll take Ron’s approval in any form he can get it. 

Hermione spends the entirety of Thursday catching Harry’s eye and smiling warmly at him. 

Zach doesn’t beat about the bush. 

“You’re together?” he asks as the two of them walk in for the evening’s gingerbread build session. Harry looks at Draco. Draco inclines his head ever so slightly. 

“Yes,” Harry says. He reaches out and takes Draco’s hand. He feels Draco stiffen beside him for a moment, but he doesn’t snatch his hand back and after a long moment, he relaxes again. 

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“What?” 

“All the unresolved sexual tension was getting in the way of the decorating.”

“No, it wasn’t!” Harry protests but Draco just laughs and squeezes Harry’s hand. 

“Now, come on,” Zach says. “Let’s finish the roof and turrets.” This is much easier said than done. It takes all of their concentration and about three hours, but they manage it. Harry doesn’t want to admit it, but it is easier to concentrate on the gingerbread when he’s not constantly trying to “accidentally” brush against Draco. 

…

“What are we going to tell people?” Harry asks after Zach and Hermione have left for the evening. He and Draco are sitting on one of the couches in the corner. Draco has one arm slung around Harry’s shoulders. 

“Most people seem to know,” Draco says. 

“I meant outside of Hogwarts.”

“So you mean my parents?”

“Among others.”

“So you mean my parents and the trashy gossip rags?”

“Well yes.” Harry snuggles back against Draco’s chest. 

“I can see the headlines now,” Draco says, tracing an arc through the air with his free hand. “Chosen One Fucking Death Eater Scum.”

“Draco.”

“Chosen One Throws Life Away for Infamous Bad Boy, Draco Malfoy.” Harry shifts and turns to face Draco, giving him a stern look. “Draco Malfoy Tricks Savior Into Illicit Love—“ Harry cuts him off before he can get any further by pressing his lips to Draco’s. It’s become a favorite tactic of his when he wants Draco to shut up. 

“Really, though,” Harry says, pulling away after a moment. “What are we going to tell people?” Draco shrugs. He stares into the middle distance for a moment before a look of bemusement crosses his face. 

“You could put a formal courting announcement in the Prophet,” he says, smirking facetiously. “That’s what all the pureblood families do.” 

“Yeah, alright then,” Harry says. 

“ _Harry_. I’m joking.” 

“And I’m not.” He reaches up and strokes Draco’s cheek. “No one’s going to write stupid headlines like that if I formally state my intentions to court you.” 

“Yes, they will,” Draco says. He leans his head into Harry’s hand, closing his eyes to the touch. 

“Well,” Harry says. “There will be less.” Draco’s eyes snap open. 

“Fewer.”

“Shut up.” 

“No,” Draco says. “Grammar’s very important. Particularly if you want to write a formal courting announcement.” 

“Which I do.” Draco stares at him for a long moment. Harry keeps his face still.

“Fuck me, you’re serious, aren’t you?” 

“I never joke,” Harry says. 

“You know, I didn’t believe you the first time you said that, and I don’t believe you now.” 

“But I’m not joking about this. Or you.” 

“You do realize it will make it almost impossible for us to break up,” Draco says. 

“Do you generally start your relationships with the anticipation of breaking up?” Harry asks. “Because I don’t.” Draco sighs. 

“You’re going to send one, no matter what I say, aren’t you?” Harry smiles. 

“Yes.” 

“Potter, you’re impossible.” 

“Thanks, I like you too.” Then he rummages in his bag for a quill and some parchment. “Now what should this say?”

…

None of the eighth years go to the Three Broomsticks on the final Friday of term. They’re all too busy putting the finishing touches on their gingerbread houses. The Chosen Buns are no exception. Draco has brewed up a final batch of the color changing, glowing potion, and they’re adding the the final flourishes to the outside of their gingerbread Hogwarts. Harry is very proud of the work they’ve done. He hopes it is enough to win the competition, but more than anything, he hopes that the finished castle will make Draco happy. 

He’d sent the official courting announcement to the Daily Prophet as soon as he and Draco had finished drafting it the night before, but it had not been printed in this morning’s paper. He knows. He’d checked. Which means both the competition and their announcement to the world will likely come on the same day. He hopes it will all go well but he’s nervous. 

They put the finishing touches on the gingerbread house just as the hour ticks over to midnight. 

“I think it’s done,” Zach says, almost reverently. 

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione says. 

“I can’t believe we made this,” Harry says. 

“It’s the best gingerbread house I’ve ever seen,” Draco says. He steps sideways until he’s standing right next to Harry and then takes his hand. 

“So you like it?” Harry asks. 

“It’s perfect.” 

“One question,” Zach says. “How do we get it to our designated table?” 

“Clampy?” The elf appears with a small pop. 

“You is calling Clampy?” 

“Can you help us move our castle to the Great Hall?” 

“Clampy is doing it right now,” Clampy says. “You is not worrying.” He snaps his fingers and the entire castle disappears. Draco grips Harry’s hand a little harder for a moment. 

“I can’t believe we’re done,” he says. 

“It’s been a hectic few weeks,” Zach agrees. “But I couldn’t have asked for a better group.” 

“I can’t believe we’re friends now,” Harry says, grinning impishly at Zach. 

“And yet, you’re still an arse,” Zach says. Harry picks up a stray pepper imp and throws it at him. 

…

If Harry hadn’t been completely exhausted from his three late nights staying up to finish the gingerbread Hogwarts, he’s not sure he would have been able to sleep. He’s so excited to see everyone’s gingerbread creations in the morning. He’s excited to see who wins, of course he is, but he thinks the most fun is going to come from touring all the projects. 

But as it is, he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

He’s woken the following morning by Ron throwing a pillow at him. 

“Come on lazy,” he says. 

“It’s Saturday,” Harry says, rolling over. “Go away.” 

“It’s gingerbread day,” Seamus says. “We figured we would all go down to breakfast together and walk around all the houses.” 

“And we’re just waiting for you,” Cormac says. Harry groans but pulls himself out bed. His fellow Gryffindors tease him for being slow, but they do wait for him to both shower and dress before they walk down to the Great Hall as a group. 

The Hall is abuzz with people and they all fall silent when Harry enters the room. Ah, so the announcement has finally made the paper. He looks around for Draco and spots him, to his surprise, at the Gryffindor table. Harry ignores the stares and walks over to Draco. He sits down next to him and then very deliberately leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“Good morning to you too,” Draco says. He leans in close to Harry. “Do you want to give them something to really talk about?” Harry smirks.

“Of course. We’re already, I assume, front page news?” 

“You are correct in assuming that.” 

“Then come here.” Harry tugs on the front of Draco’s jumper and kisses him full on the mouth until Cormac tells them to get a room. Harry grins into the kisses and doesn’t stop for at least another twenty seconds. 

“So this means we’re official then?” he asks. 

“I don’t see how we could be any more official,” Draco says. 

“Have you heard from your parents?” Harry asks. Draco shakes his head. 

“I’m sure my mother is thrilled and my father is already trying to figure out how he can cash in on it.” 

“You family is so lovely.”

“Oh fuck off, you knew what you were getting into.” 

“I did,” Harry agrees. “Now come along, darling.” Draco pokes him and Harry grins. “Let’s go check out the competition.” 

…

They decide to start with the first year houses and work their way around the hall. The first years have clearly been earnest in their efforts, but it is also obvious that they are eleven. Harry decides the houses are all cute. Draco insists that they haven’t tried hard enough. 

The houses get progressively better as they make their way around the hall. Harry is concentrating as best he can, but when Draco sticks his hand into Harry’s back pocket, Harry gets rather distracted. 

He is suitably impressed by Luna and Ginny’s gingerbread house. It’s a very well decorated Victorian, which reminds Harry of one of the gingerbread houses from Draco’s family pictures, aside from the fact that it is multicolored and much more whimsical. He mentions this to Draco and is delighted when Draco is surprised that he remembers it. 

While the houses have gotten more spectacular, it’s not until they reach the eighth year ones that Harry is truly impressed. 

The first one they come to has been made by ‘The Devil’s Snare Drums’, the group of Ron, Pansy, Neville and Terry. Harry’s not sure he would call it a gingerbread house, but it is certainly majestic. It’s a model of the Hogwarts grounds, replete with Hagrid’s hut — the main gingerbread “house” — a moving Whomping Willow and all four greenhouses, which are filled with fondant plants and whose windows are made out of edible sugar glass. It’s very impressive and very clearly designed by Neville. Harry loves it. 

The second Eighth year gingerbread house is a submission from ‘The Snow Angels’ — Hannah, Mandy, Millicent and Daphne. Theirs is a replica of the muggle shop Harrods, all decked up in lights for the holidays. Harry thinks it must have been Hannah’s idea until Draco tells him it was definitely Millie’s. It’s beautiful and festive and it glows with thousands of frosting lights dotted around the building, but the most impressive part is the ground floor shop windows. Harry’s only been past Harrods a few times over the holidays, mainly trailing behind Aunt Petunia, carrying her Christmas shopping for her, but he knows that Harrods always decorates their shop windows for Christmas. The gingerbread house is no exception. There are tiny mannequins dressed in haute couture and then festooned in spun sugar tinsel. Harry worries that it could be a strong contender for best gingerbread house. 

The next gingerbread house is from the team of Blaise, Padma, Justin and Ernie: team name ‘Enchantée’. Blaise had mentioned that they were making the Eiffel Tower, so Harry had thought he’d be prepared for what they’d done. He is not. It’s spectacular. The tower is made out of interlocking gingerbread strips and also lit with dabs of glowing frosting. It’s magnificent and Harry is starting to get very nervous about their chances of winning. 

‘Santa’s Babies’, the team of Parvati, Lavender, Susan and Michael, has created a gingerbread Taj Majal. It is topped with meringue domes and decorated with intricate, filigreed frosting. There’s a pool of sugar glass and small, fondant trees for the gardens, and Harry thinks its only flaw is that it is rather small. 

The final Eighth year creation, aside from theirs, comes from ‘The Legion of Broom’, which consists of Seamus, Dean, Cormac and Anthony. It is immediately Harry’s favorite. They’ve created a gingerbread version of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, with the stands, outer ring and three hoops made out of gingerbread. Harry assumes that Dean is the one who has frosted the outsides of the stands with the intricate house patterns. Whoever did it, it is seriously impressive. 

But the best part of the entire thing is the tiny, moving game of quidditch they have going on. Harry grins in delight as he watches the tiny players zoom around the field and he’s worried about his team’s chances until he sees that the players are toy collector’s models, rather than moving gingerbread creations. 

Their gingerbread Hogwarts is by far the largest gingerbread house in the entire hall and is at the very end of the line of houses. Harry had known it was large while they were making — of course it is, it’s taken them the entire two and a half weeks to create — but he hadn’t realized just _how_ _big_ it is until he sees it in comparison to everyone else’s. 

Now, after seeing the various creations throughout the hall, Harry can really appreciate how good theirs is. The outside is nicely decorated, and glows different colors in the places Draco’s frosting has been used to accent things. But, even better than that, is the fact that you can peer through the glass sugar windows and look into the tiny decorated rooms. It’s everything Harry had hoped it would be and more. 

“Can you believe we made this?” Harry asks, leaning into Draco. 

“No,” Draco says. “I didn’t think you had any sort of skills, let alone useful gingerbread house ones.” 

“Hey,” Harry protests and Draco grins at him. 

“I think a large portion of the thanks should go to Hermione,” Draco says and Harry has to agree with him. 

“It was a team effort,” Zach says from behind them. They turn and grin at him. He makes a face at them in return. “Stop being so cute together. It’s disgustingly saccharine.”

“Have you asked Mandy out yet?” Draco shoots back. Zach flushes. “I’ll take that as a no.” He pulls his hand out of Harry’s back pocket. “Back in a moment, Harry. Come on, Smith. I have some wingmanning to do.” He hooks his arm into Zach’s and begins dragging him in Mandy’s general direction. 

“So,” Cormac says, walking up to Harry. “You and Malfoy then?”

“Yep,” Harry says. He’s not sure what Cormac is getting and and readies himself for a fight. “Smith is right. Disgustingly cute.” He cuffs Harry on the shoulder and smirks at him. 

“Thanks Cormac,” he says. “I really like your gingerbread quidditch by the way. Whose models are they?”

“They’re mine,” Cormac says, puffing out his chest. “They were a last minute addition.”

“So you’re saying you own a collectable figure of me?”

“‘Course. Youngest seeker in a century? Captain of my house team? Why wouldn’t I?” Harry smiles. A thought strikes him. 

“Do you think I’d be good enough?” he asks. “To go professional, I mean?”

“Thinking about trying out?” Cormac asks. Harry shrugs.

“I thought I might.”

“Why are you asking me about this?” Cormac asks. Harry’s not quite sure, but he plows on anyway. 

“You seem to know a lot,” he says, which is true. Cormac _does_ know a lot about quidditch, he just hadn’t known how to effectively coach a team or when to just shut up and play. But he’s become at least marginally less full of himself this year, so Harry thinks maybe they could work together on Harry’s new career aspirations. “And you know a lot of people.”

“Networking already? Harry, I hardly think you need to.”

“Look,” Harry says, deciding something he hopes he won’t regret later. “Would you help me? Prepare for try outs? And, I don’t know, represent me?”

“You want me to be your agent?”

“Yes?” This could all backfire, but he’ll worry about that later. Cormac’s face splits into a huge smile. 

“Harry, I would be honored.” He takes Harry’s hand with such enthusiasm, Harry is worried his arm is about to get pulled off. 

“What did I miss?” Draco asks, sidling up to Harry and putting a possessive arm around his waist. 

“Harry’s going pro,” Cormac says. 

“Pro?”

“Quidditch,” Harry clarifies. “I’m going to try out.”

“I thought you wanted to be an auror?”

“Well, someone I know suggested I do something I enjoy. I can always be an auror later if I still want to.”

“Oh, _no_ ,” Draco says. “If someone signs you, I’m going to be in the gossip rags _all the time_ as your boyfriend. I’ll have to buy some new, attractive clothes.” But he doesn’t look too put out about it so Harry just laughs and kisses his cheek. 

…

Professor McGonagall enters the Great Hall around lunchtime. Harry realizes this because the hall falls silent when she enters. His stomach fills with butterflies. He clutches Draco’s hand. 

“Settle down,” Professor McGonagall says, perhaps unnecessarily as the students are mostly silent as is. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for has arrived. The announcement of the winners of our inaugural Gingerbread House competition. I hope that you all have had time to walk around and enjoy your fellow students’ creations. There are some truly spectacular ones.” A frisson of excitement goes around the hall. 

“Now without further ado, I shall allow Professor Weasley to announce the winners.”

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” Professor Weasley says. “Hello everyone! We hope that you enjoyed participating in this contest. As your professor, I have been heartened to see the friendships that have bloomed between the houses. And I have been _very_ impressed at all of the gingerbread houses here on display. You should all be proud of your work.” He puts his hands together and claps, indicating that everyone should join in. The hall fills with cheers and clapping. 

“That said, there can only be one group of winners from each year and it is my pleasure to announce them to you!” Harry looks around the hall for Hermione and Zach as Bill starts to read out the winners from the younger years. He spots them standing near the gingerbread Hogwarts and he tugs Draco along as he goes to stand by them.

The anticipation builds as Professor Weasley makes his way through the years and Draco’s grip on his hand gets tighter and tighter. Finally, after the announcement of the seventh year winners, who unfortunately do not include Ginny and Luna and so are made up entirely of students Harry doesn’t know, the time comes to announce the Eighth year winners. 

“While all the gingerbread creations from all the years were magnificent,” Professor Weasley says. “We were absolutely blown away by the creations from the Eighth years. I can only assume that it’s because they were all looking for things to do aside from study for their N.E.W.T.s.” There’s a smattering of laughter. “But one team went far and above all everyone else.”

Harry’s stomach tightens in anticipation. He thinks it might be them. Theirs is the biggest, after all. And he may be biased but he thinks it might be the most detailed. 

“In fact,” Professor Weasley continues. “Professor Snape’s portrait has suggested it be smothered in preservation charms and kept as inspiration for the years to come.”

“What?” Hermione asks in a whisper. Harry reaches out with his spare hand and takes hers. He sees her grab Zach’s out of the corner of his eye as well. 

“I am of course talking,” Professor Weasley says. “About Team,” and here he pauses and looks down at his piece of parchment. “The Chosen Buns.” He fights to keep a straight face at their team name but Harry is too busy cheering and jumping up and down to notice. “And their frankly outstanding Hogwarts Castle.” 

“We did it! We did it!” Hermione is yelling. Zach is fist pumping the air. But it’s Draco’s reaction that Harry really cares about. 

Draco is grinning from ear to ear, like the pictures of him with the gingerbread houses of his youth, only somehow even happier. And then Draco’s kissing him in front of the entire school and Harry doesn’t think this day could get any better. 

…

“I can’t believe you made me do this,” the portrait of Severus Snape says to the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. 

“Severus,” Dumbledore intones. “We had to rehabilitate your image.”

“You’ve turned me into a ridiculous caricature.”

“Would you rather be remembered as a ridiculous caricature of house inclusion? Or as the person who killed me?”

“But _Albus_ ,” Snape says. “I was much more _nuanced_ in life.” 

“No, you weren’t,” Dumbledore says. Snape splutters. “You were a grumpy bastard. But you will now be remembered as someone who had hidden depths thanks to this lovely gingerbread contest.” 

“I—“

“—You’re welcome.” 

“But—“

“—Also Minerva’s agreed to convert the Chosen Buns’ classroom into a house neutral common area called Snape’s Den.”

“You’re _joking_.” Dumbledore stares at Snape for a long moment.

“I never joke,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

~Fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays everyone!
> 
> Thanks to Nina for the inspiration and for reading through it and pointing out where things could be improved. :)


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